


Altea Academy of Alchemy

by my-ruu (riotousorder)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - College/University, Complete, Discussion of Afterlife, Elective Mute Keith, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Adoptive Siblings, M/M, Souls, an Alchemy Academy to be exact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 84,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotousorder/pseuds/my-ruu
Summary: "One who delves into the intricacies of Alchemy must never meddle with life and death." That's the first line on the list of ultimatums every alchemist must commit to heart and never contravene. Keith transmuted time to save a life and paid the price. With his alchemy power stripped and memory removed, Keith spent his whole life looking for a past and an answer hidden in plain sight.Lance, on the other hand, spent his waking life realizing his dream — waking time only because mind you, sleep was essential for every skincare routine. When Allura Altea announced the special event at the academy to pick a student to accompany her for the Phoenix Migration, he lost one night sleep to figure his life out. He needed a tutor, only he didn’t expect it to be Keith, school’s prettiest, most talented and most offish drop-out.





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> After 3 months of intensive writing, this is my first ever complete multi-chaptered fic. I'm so happy. I'm honored to be a part of the Keith Mini Bang. The event has provided me motivation to complete this fic in its entirety. A huge thank you to my friends who offer to beta this chaotic fic. @Cap and @Ali, thank you so so much for beating this. You guys are the best betas I can ask for
> 
> FORMAT NOTES - SPEECH TYPE INDICATORS:  
> “this is normal speech”  
> :this denotes typing speech:  
> “:this denotes synthesized speech:” (this format will only in appear in later chapter)
> 
> EDIT: Now with art from [Uragiri](https://uragirinoteme.tumblr.com/post/176271833857/oh-nice-can-i-get-cleaved-in-half-left-and). I'm in tears Keith is so damn badass TT.TT. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS CHAPTER. SUPPORT THE ARTIST VIA THEIR ACCOUNTS ACROSS SOCIAL MEDIAS.

The transition between sleep and wakefulness was a strange one. One moment there was nothing, then the next, Keith was staring at the silhouette of the table, wondering if his dream had been about tripping over his own legs.

 

Chilled air of an early autumn night spilled inside through the open window, touching the wind chime he hung with elegant fingers. He felt more than saw Blue glide along the wind into his room. She landed in his line of sight on top of the table lamp, waiting, watching, beating her wings meditatively. She made a nice decoration, Keith blearily noted. A huge glowing blue butterfly perching on the gaudy mushroom lampshade, something straight out of Wonderland-scape.  

 

A teary yawn escaped him. Blue left her spot and wove over to land on his bangs, elegant as a rose petal. Sleep must still be fogging his mind for him to think it was Blue's way of apologizing for rousing him up in the middle of the night. There was only one reason why Blue would drop by at this hour anyway.

 

An astray soul was nearby.

 

Keith flipped the comforter off, twisting his left arm to wake it up. Street lamps cast russet patches across the room, lighting the way across the paper-strewn floor. The scythe leaned against the bookshelf. It glowed with a pale white sheen that reminded him of moonlight as his fingers closed around the handle. Keith swiped the jacket draped over the back of his chair and shrugged it on in one motion. Blue firmly clung to his hair, migrating a bit to stay on top of his head as Keith opened the door with a soft click. The main living quarters beyond was void of any life, plunged into a perpetual darkness in the wee hours of the morning. Shiro was snoring softly from the bedroom adjacent to Keith’s own, sound asleep as his hard-working ass should be, instead of overworking himself as he was wont to do. A sudden burst of wind blew through and pushed the door shut with an explosive _bang_ that made Keith jump. He couldn’t have cared less if this had been morning. As it was, Shiro mumbled something from inside his room and Keith winced, fingers on the wall between their room, ready to tap out an apology.

 

Shiro's voice, already doused in several levels of sleepiness, now muffled through the closed door, almost made it impossible for Keith to decipher. He could hazard a guess however. Shiro was no stranger to Keith's night time arcane escapades.

 

“Stay safe,” was what he said.

 

Keith tapped 'OK' in Morse code, then padded over the front door, through the apartment hallway, and finally standing on the empty street, breathing in an air of yellowing leaves. Blue took off the moment he swung the building door open, once again letting the wind take her to where she wanted him to be. Keith jogged after her.

 

Hardly any vehicles frequented the area at this time. Even the cicadas had quieted down, leaving behind a loud silence that Keith relished in. He ran his fingers along the wall of the building. They slipped into a patch of peeling cement and were coated in the thin layer of grey dust. Keith drew his fingers away and rubbed them together. The dust felt gravelly under the rough ministrations. Blue veered off the sidewalk, leading him across the street and, ever a law-abiding butterfly, guided him across the street on the zebra crossing. If it was during the daytime, she would wait until pedestrian lights were green to cross. She kept on floating, hugging the fence of the small park until she reached the gate and promptly vanished into thin air. A soul was inside the park, then.

 

In the silence of the not-night-not-morning, the buzzing of electricity in street lamps enveloped the air. Keith grabbed the handle of the scythe strapped to his back and swung it around. It sliced through the air with a smooth _swoosh_. He swung it around a few times more, admiring the sharpness and lightness of the blade and stepped inside.

 

Nighttime brought out a side of the park he rarely witnessed. A dejected, lonely park with a myriad of nature sounds; rhythmic plopping from the dripping fountain, a squirrel dashing through the leaves on an early nuts hunt. Keith followed the path as it winded its way around the grass lawn. A homeless man slept on a bench, curling tightly under a blanket of newspaper, his possession — a threadbare backpack —- under his head. He turned, shuffling so he didn’t fall off the small available space of the bench, newspaper crunching loudly and falling. He mumbled incoherently, rubbing his bare forearms and curling his legs a little closer to his chest. Keith pursed his lips, fingering the cuff of his windbreaker; he should have worn something warmer, at least then his help would be useful. He shrugged it off anyway, draped it over the man, who didn’t even stir, and stuffed all the change he scrounged from his jeans’ pockets into the jacket’s pocket. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

  
Something moved in the corner of his eye. Keith swung his scythe reflexively, not that it could do much help. Souls were rarely volatile towards him and living humans could not be affected by afterlife’s creation. A sheet of newspaper slid along the ground. Leaves rustled cacophonously in the canopy above. No waking beings were here. Keith blew out a breath and restrapped the scythe on his back. It would have been embarrassing if he had tried to murder the wind for scaring him. He swiped the scattered newspaper — some conspiracy bull about Alfor Altea’s death — from the ground and dumped them in the bin, continuing on his way.

 

He was jogging around the lake when he saw it in his peripheral vision. A grey smokey figure of a girl gyrating around an oak. Keith stalked towards her, hiding in the shadow of a night jogger running past. The scythe glowed with excitement. He desperately shifted it on his back, trying to hide the conspicuous glow. The girl was still floating circles around the tree, like a cat chasing its own tail. As the jogger neared the tree, Keith prepared to step out of his shadow and race to the soul to catch her off guard —

 

He got an eyeful of dirt crusted soles. The kick came so sudden he fell completely over, his elbows landing on the ground first, sending the illusion of jarring pain up and down his body. In the quiet park, sounds traveled at the speed of light and echoed around the area like thousands of church bells. The jogger was saying something but Keith didn't hear him at all, for his attention was fully on the soul, whose form was quickly evaporating at the sudden commotion. Keith sprang up and shoved the jogger out of the way. He raced towards her, left arm completely outstretched to cover any meager distance it could. Damn it, he couldn't lose her here. Who knew where and when she would pop up again?

 

By the time he reached her, she had mostly dissipated, only the upper part of her face and her loose braid hanging behind her remaining. The two made a grotesque image. In a last-ditch effort, Keith flung himself the final step. His fingers thankfully brushed the last remaining hair, a strange sensation he had no way to explain passed up his arm. It felt like touching air. Something and nothing at the same time. The night melted away the moment the tip of his finger came into contact with her hair, replaced with the same glowing white space his scythe seemed to be made of. Not that Keith was actually seeing it, for gravity still worked seamlessly here and he landed face first onto the red flower bed. The flowers bent beneath him, cool and moist and Keith lay there for a second longer than he needed before he finally pulled himself to his feet with the scythe as his walking stick.

 

Flowers bloomed for as far as his eyes could see, a blood-red carpet in a space of blinding white. The soul wandered ahead of him, not more solid than she had been when they were still in the living world.

 

 _Where is this? Clearly not Japan,_ the girl said. Sort of. She didn’t move her mouth. More like, her thoughts reverberated within his mind. _I remember Japan to be more pink._ She marched around, disturbing no flowers.

 

 _The in-between,_ Keith replied with his thoughts.

 

She nodded and prowled through the flowers like military personnel. He leant against the scythe, keeping an eye on her. This soul was either directionless not to notice the pathway to the afterworld or a since-I-am-dead-I-am-gonna-stick-around type.

 

 _So what's gonna happen now?_ She flopped down and stared up at him.

 

 _I cleave you in half and you'll be sent to the land of souls._ Keith straightened and twirled the scythe in his hand. It was as satisfying to move it around as ever.

 

_You're very blunt, aren't you?_

 

Keith kept silent.

 

 _How do you cleave people in half anyway?_ She continued, unperturbed by his lack of response. _Upper and lower half or left and right half?_

 

Keith raised one finger, indicating the former option. He always cleaved souls horizontally out of habit and swinging dynamic of the scythe.

 

_Oh, nice. Can I get cleaved in half left and right, then?_

 

Keith shrugged, motioning for the girl to stand up, who did so with a gleeful bounce and bright smile. She was one of the weird ones. He unconsciously angled the blade towards her midsection before she cleared her throat sharply. He jerked his head in acknowledgement and turned the handle in his hand until the blade sat at an awkward angle with its tip pointing towards the ground. He held it above her head with both hands, grimacing at the wrongness of the hold. She grinned at him and nodded. Keith let the blade fall. Her figure split cleanly in half and started fading away like cotton candy dissolving in water.

                                                                                   

 

 _Thanks. Now I can go meet my gramps in style._ She flashed him a v-sign and smiled so widely her eyes crinkled shut.

 

The last of her dissolved into the space around them.

 

The scythe glowed imperceptibly as he returned it to his side. The flowers, too, seemed to bloom larger. Keith looked around one last time, taking in the vast sea of unmoving flowers before thinking for Blue. She appeared post-haste and landed on his shoulders, light as a feather. Keith stroked her wings out of curiosity. His finger came back covered in iridescent blue pollen-like dust.

 

The plain red and white scenery bled away. In its place, colors of the living world filtered back in. Spreading sunrise painted oranges and peach across the clouds. Dew drops sparkled, liquid diamond hanging precariously on blades of fresh green. Keith breathed in deeply. The air was new and clear, a stark difference to the scent-less in-between. He was really back in the real world.

 

A jaw-dislocating yawn came suddenly and he was hit with a realization. He was _fighting_ to keep his eyes open and his body oddly felt like it wasn’t connected to him anymore. He desperately needed sleep. With a conscious effort, he put one leg before another and started dragging himself home. The town aroused around him, cars speeding at slightly faster pace to make use of the sparse traffic, shopkeepers cleaning up the last of the storefronts before flipping the sign to “Open.” Keith slapped himself awake to walk with more control; he needed to get home stat. Opened shops meant opened cafes, which in turned meant sleep-deprived students and teachers come flooding in the cafes on the ground floor of the apartment building and preventing him from entering the building.

 

The apartment was still oddly silent when Keith slotted the key into the the lock and swung the door open, letting it hit against the wall. From Shiro’s bedroom, a low thump and groaning floated out. Keith left his shoes lying haphazardly on the porch and padded around the room in thundering steps to put the coffee machine on, adding sugar in one cup and salt in another. He should not be the responsible one of the apartment. Shiro had to oversee two exams today so why hadn't he been awake?

 

Shiro tumbled out of his room, already dressed but hair still in disarray, the white tuft at the front puffed up comically. Einstein's electrified style as Keith called it. Keith poured coffee in both cups, handed one to a yawning Shiro and vacated himself to the sofa by the floor length window with his cup. The tension flowed from his shoulders as he settled down in a familiar side lean against the armrest and pulled the sketchbook from under the coffee table onto his curled legs.

 

The sketchbook was already open to the finished sketch of a flower in full bloom, the same kind as in the in-between. Keith flipped to a blank page and proceeded to sketch down the flower again, in as many details as his memory had captured. He took a sip of coffee and heard Shiro spit his out. A full grin pulled at his cheeks as his fingers flew across the phone keyboard.

 

:You have two exams to oversee today, why aren’t you awake sooner?:

 

Shiro’s phone buzzed on the metal stove top. Shiro took a glance at it and proceeded to dump his salted coffee cup into the sink.

 

“I’m ready to go any moment. No need for you to be my alarm and chef.” Shiro huffed and yawned again, mouth wide like a cave-in. He pointed at his outfit; jeans and jumper, nothing needed to be ironed or prepared beforehand for a presentable state. “No, me having to oversee exams doesn’t merit you calling me up half an hour before my alarm. And I call bullshit, too. Your middle name is Eleventh-Hour. You have no concept of time and arriving on time.”

 

Keith grinned wider, physically straining, and put his phone back on the table. Shiro knew him too well. He spun the pencil around his thumb and went back to sketching. The kettle bubbled merrily and switched off with a click. Hot water hitting the tea bag was an indistinct, but familiar sound. Shiro padded over to him and sat down on the other side of the sofa, sipping tea while swiping at his phone.

 

The flower bloomed under a few strokes. Seven thin, frilly petals fanned out from a center of fourteen curving stamens; seven shorter petals curved inwards underneath like a question mark beneath the straight petals. One single, green stalk kept the flower in place. He counted the total of petals again to be sure before toeing Shiro to make him look at the sketch Keith was dangling in front of his face.

 

After some inspection, Shiro proclaimed for the millionth time, “I mean it, it seriously looks like a spider lily.” He quickly swiped on his phone. “See?”

 

This time, it was Shiro’s turn to shove a picture in his face. Keith grudgingly agreed while doubt pooled in his guts. The similarities ended at somewhat similar frilly petals, various curving skywards stamens and leafless green stalk. The colors were off. Spider lily had a cheery Christmas red. The flowers in the in-between donned a dangerous sanguine coat that stained the white space. The lily Shiro showed him bloomed seven six-petals flowers from the stalk in contrast to in-between flower of a single large bloom.

 

“Listen to this.” Shiro withdrew the phone and read out loud from the wiki page. “‘These scarlet flowers usually bloom near cemeteries, they are described in Chinese and Japanese legends as ominous flowers that grow in Hell and guide the dead into the next reincarnation’. Your flowers grow in the in-between. See the resemblance?”

 

Keith pursed his lips. That did not sound right.

 

A melancholic sadness clouded over Shiro’s face.

 

“Don’t worry, bud. We’ll find out what kind of flowers they are and get somewhere with your past.” Shiro bumped a fist on his knee. “Show me Blue?”

 

If there had been a course about the Art of Subtly Changing Topics in Conversations, Shiro would have failed it five times over and only managed to pass because a teacher took pity on him. Keith appreciate the attempt anyway. So he flipped a few pages forward and let Shiro took a look at a rough sketch of Blue mid-glide.

 

Shiro made an appreciative noise at the back of his throat and took a picture with his phone. He stood up and smoothed out the creases on the jeans. He walked over to the fridge and rummaged around the freezer. Keith turned back to his drawing, biting his lips to stop another jaw-dislocating yawn. The sound of plastic paper zipping through the air was the only warning he got to raise his hand up out of reflex to catch the projectile aimed at him. The bag of frozen peas greeted him when he brought his hand down.

 

“For your eye.” Shiro called from the doorway, tapping a finger over his own left eye.

 

The realization that hit Keith felt more like a toe stub in all its suddenness and jarring, world-changing pain. He had been wondering all morning why it was so difficult to see out of his left eye. He got a back-kick in it.

 

“Man, I hope the poor lamppost didn’t break. Your skull is as hard as that shriveled-up apple from the fridge.” Shiro shook his head in faux sympathy, pinning the phoenix badge to his chest. The red diamond sparkled, a phoenix head rising from the roaring flame, and wings arching up in a semicircle.

 

Altea Academy of Alchemy’s symbol. Keith used to wear the same emblem. Gold and platinum to signify his place as a student of the Advanced Course. Not anymore, though. Keith ignored the sad look Shiro sent his way, waving a graphite-smudged hand in goodbye. Shiro trudged back inside with his shoes on and bumped his fist against Keith's palm, ruffling his hair. He dashed away before Keith could kick him in the liver.

 

"Don't burn the curtains while I'm gone."

 

Keith felt heat rising in his face as he quickly sent a message to Shiro.

 

:That was ONE time!:

 

Disbelieving laughter from beyond the closed door was the only reply.

 

The apartment was glaringly devoid of life with Shiro gone. Neither of them were one for collecting knick-knacks. The _tick-tock_ of a clock hanging on the wall reverberated around their sparse living space. The refrigerator hummed moodily, probably bemoaning its barren state of healthy food stuffs. All else was soundless and unreal. Keith glanced at the half-finished sketch. His drawings could never do Blue's majesty justice. Wings that flowed like silk with each flap as she glided along the air, a blue so vibrant and unreal that Keith had no problem believing Blue was carved from an autumn sky and brought to life with a mission to lead him to the lost souls. His sketch was lifeless, still and rough; nothing like Blue's elegance and ethereality. Keith rolled the rubber in his hand. He wanted to erase this from existence but at the same time, he didn't.  He had come this far into the sketch, he might as well complete it with some careless lines. He hated leaving things undone.

 

Melted water from the bag of peas over his eye slid along his face and dampened his hair. He poked the numb, swollen area. His leg jerked up as the bruise throbbed the moment his fingernail came into contact.

 

Keith knew Shiro knew a lot of medical alchemy. A bruise was nothing hard to fix with the repertoire of knowledge Shiro's tenacious memory possessed. Keith also knew that Shiro would resolutely refuse to heal his bruise due to the fact that he had no official permit to perform medical alchemy. As if police could break into their apartment and arrest them for alchemy misconduct. But Pidge would definitely help.

 

Keith gently turned the pack front to back, slouching further into the sofa as a fresh freeze hit. He got comfortable and closed his eyes. A short nap sounded good right now.


	2. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Lance and not hitting it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FORMAT NOTES - SPEECH TYPE INDICATORS:  
> “this is normal speech”  
> :this denotes typing speech:   
> “:this denotes synthesized speech:” (this format will only in appear in later chapter)

"I can see components for blood.” Pidge traced a finger over the transmutation circle sketch, fixing the glasses that started to slipping off her nose with a middle finger. “But this is too simple. How can I know I’m not going to turn your blood vessels inside out and risk Shiro encasing me in wood?”

 

:Because it’s simple. I just need the swelling to lessen so I can open my left eye: Keith sent the message to Pidge’s phone. 

 

Pidge didn’t look at her phone. Instead she eyed him over the rim of her glasses. A familiar look, the starting mark of a routine. Keith knew exactly what Pidge was going to say next. 

 

“Can I convince you to take sign language class?”

 

He looked at her, flat out tired of hearing this. Shiro had quitted but Pidge was importunate. 

 

“How about you use the device I designed?” She pressed on, an absolute blank look on her face. 

 

There was no judgement from her but Keith couldn’t help the frustration and anger from seeping out. He tore a sheet from the sketchbook and scratched out  _ ‘I don’t need help. _ ’ He showed the note to Pidge, daring her to make any objection. Because he really didn’t need help! Doctors already said there was a reason he couldn’t talk, if he found out the reason, everything would be fixed! Mr. and Mrs. Holt were there with him, they heard all that as well. 

 

Pidge stared at the note, face as blank as ever and coughed noisily. Keith deemed it as the ending cue to this conversation, taking back the note. He pointed vaguely at his left eye, steering Pidge’s attention back to the thing she needed to help him with. She took one look at her phone to read his earlier text and grinned, showing all teeth. The tension between them was therefore shoved under the rug.

 

“Let’s get down to business, shall we,” Pidge announced, rolling back the sleeves of her shirt with gusto. Keith had every reason to believe her initial worry was just an act and she was eagerly excited to test on him. 

 

Medical alchemy was a messy business of copying a transmutation circle onto the skin. Pidge sat on the table, leg crossed and traced the circle on the paper onto his skin, line by line. Each time the pen nib touched his skin, Keith reflexively jerked away. 

 

“Sit still, you idiot!” Pidge growled, putting an arm forcefully on top of his head to stop him from twitching away. 

 

The twitching moved to his fingers and tapping foot.

 

“Jesus, you’re even worse than Hunk,” she grumbled, putting even more force on top of his head and making him feel like his neck was two seconds away from folding over. 

 

Keith stretched his arm for the phone on the length of the chair to ask Pidge who Hunk was. 

 

“Still!” Pidge screeched, shrill and mean. 

 

Keith attempted to imitate a statue. He even slowed his breathing. The pen moved in a circle, hopefully for the last time. 

 

“Done.” She popped the pen cap and flopped back down next to him. 

 

Keith opened an eye and looked at his reflection on the phone screen. Pidge seemed to have copied everything in place. A single circle and five pointed star with blood components and some rudimentary knowledge for skin texture. Keith gave her a nod. she nodded back, an excited gleam in her smile, and put her energy-directed clasp on, the phoenix carved onto the surface seemingly soar. She placed her hands flat on both side of his cheeks, freezing, dry hands that shocked him into jerking a little. Her eyes turned hard as steel as she focused and Keith closed his eyes. Some people said when doctors performed alchemy on them, they felt a surge of electricity-like energy that ran through them and gathered around the wound to mend it. 

 

Keith felt nothing. Well, he felt the swelling go down, but that was about it. No magical, mystical, extramundane energy whatsoever. The volunteer could be lying, but all 200 volunteers that were treated with alchemy said the same thing about an energy running through their wound and fixing it. Maybe Keith was the black sheep. 

 

From behind his eyelids, the glow dispersed slowly until he deemed it all right to open his eyes again. He could blink his left eye, albeit slowly. That was a good thing. He blinked a few more times, enjoying the dull pain with every blink when Pidge took his cheeks between her palms and roughly pulled his face towards her like he was some sort of unfeeling plushie. She peered into his left eye, the intensity in her own amber eyes an admirable feat. Keith dared not blink. He felt his eyes water. Pidge finally let go with a nod of finality. 

 

“Looks good to me.” She jumped off the sofa like a squirrel and picked her laptop case off the dining table before pulling the door open with her foot. 

 

Keith shook his head disapprovingly. Pidge flipped him a finger while munching on a piece of toast she grabbed from the table and disappeared, not even closing the door fully. He sighed defeatedly and stood up. Job was starting soon anyway.

* * *

 

Whoever was renting the piano room was pleasantly good. Keith found himself nodding to the rhythm, fingers tapping along the staircase as he ambled to the second floor where the music rooms were located. Old wood smoothed with decades of wear slid underneath his fingertips and the carpeted floor muted all the noise his heavy boots might make. Someone hurried past him with thundering steps, wearing a displeased scowl, unzipped backpack held in one hand while the other arm hugged a plethora of books, a notebook and several highlighters to her chest. Keith winced sympathetically. He kept on forgetting most people needed absolute silence to focus. Not him though, he needed background noise to focus, silence distracted him.

 

The second floor was completely devoid of library goers. Most had vacated the place and those that were still around blasted their own music through headphones loud enough he could make out the lyrics of a poppy, foreign song. He worried for the wellbeing of their ears. Piano music wove through shelves of books, a string of notes melding together and creating a beautiful melody straight from the Baroque. The piano room was located at the end of the floor, right beside several other sound-proof rooms for musicians to rent and practice their craft. He had seen violinists, cellists, and flautists come and go ever since he started working there. Keith walked into the piano room and quickly shut the outer door. Immediately, the noise cut off; a crevice in the air so deep he was left winded for a moment. The library returned to its original, usual state of low murmuring and fluttering of turning pages all across the spacious place. He quickly jogged back downstairs; the front desk had been left unmanned for a while. 

 

Someone was already waiting at the counter, their soon-to-be checked-out books piled up on the counter. Keith hastened his pace and slid inside the booth. The guy glanced up from his phone and promptly dropped it. Keith only saw the flash of a phoenix pin on his collar before the guy, out of nowhere, shoved his face straight into Keith’s space, sweeping the stack of books onto the floor.

 

“I’d recognize that mullet anywhere! You stalked me in the park!” The guy screeched. 

 

Keith balked, mouth dropping open. Him? Stalking someone? Ludicrous. He typed on his phone and showed it to the guy. 

 

:What the are you talking about?: 

 

"Last night! I was jogging in the park and  _ you _ stalked me!" The guy jabbed a finger at his chest, livid

 

Keith ignored the guy for a moment and looked around the room over the guy’s shoulders . The commotion had drawn the eyes of everyone sitting in the area. Some kids were even standing on their chairs to get a better view. The majority of them were not as piqued though. They glared at Keith, annoyance and grumpiness so tangible that Keith could taste it. 

 

He couldn’t care less about the attention right now, for his aggravation was boiling in his innards and ready to burst out of him. This guy was ridiculous, accusing him of stalking! He was not that low of a human being!

 

Keith ripped a paper off of a notebook lying within his reach and tersely uncapped the pen he always kept in his pocket. Words formed underneath the tip, an angry, uneven scrawl in all pointy uppercase — ‘WHAT. THE. FUCK. ARE. YOU. TALKING. ABOUT?’. Keith leveled his gaze at the stranger, who glared right back, even growling a little. Keith ground his teeth together. 

 

He didn’t manage to show the note to the guy as a strident voice rang out. 

 

“Is there a problem here gentlemen?” Mrs. Illaria swept down the stairs, the tail end of her black scarf flew behind her. She made a terrifying image, the round glasses that was almost falling off her thin nose failed to soften her harsh features. 

 

Her eyes gleamed dangerously when she rounded on both of them, staring them down. Keith could proudly say he was of decent height, but together with her heels and voluminous high bun, she towered over him. She studied him intently. He hastily balled the paper up and stuffed it in his pockets. Her eyes moved downward for a second then came back up again to incinerate his soul. Keith dared not blink.

 

Finally, she made a low sound at the back of her throat and pivoted around on her heels to face the guy standing at the counter, whose face seemed to be dyed in white. Keith let out a breath, his shoulders slumping down like two soggy, dead tree branches as Mrs. Illaria told the guy off. 

 

“Mr,” she glanced at the guy’s cross body bag, “McClain, I do not believe whatever you were vociferating at my member of staff is to be considered ‘conversing in a hushed voice’. However, I will let this slide, considering it’s your first and last transgression. Another mishap and you’ll be permanently banned from the city library. Have I made myself clear, Mr. McClain?”

 

The guy, McClain, nodded fervently, eyes blown wide. His hands, which were clutching his bag strap, now turned deadly white at the fingertips. Keith allowed himself a lazy smirk. Unfortunately, Mrs. Illaria saw it and rounded on him again, this time with an even deeper scowl than she had for McClain. In the breath-holding silence within the library as everyone watched the scene unfold, the clinking of the gold phoenix pendant against her hair stick was as loud as thunder tearing the sky apart.

 

“And you, Mr Kogane. You are now out of work two hours earlier and will be put on probation for the next week.” She tagged on, when Keith readied his phone to type in a protest. “Need I remind you of your responsibility? ‘It’s a staff member’s responsibility to uphold the absolute peace of the library’. I did not see you do that. Instead, you added fuel to the fire and consequently created conflagration. Now scat, the two of you.”

 

With that she handed McClain his pile of books, all systematically checked out while she was telling them both off, and assumed her place behind the reception where Keith usually stayed. She didn’t bat an eyelash when Keith just stood there and gaped at her. Her hawk like gaze traveled the entire floor, deterring any more mishaps from happening in her presence. Keith sent one final withering glare at McClain before shoving his hands into his pockets and leaving through the revolving doors. He had thought this was the last he would see of McClain. 

 

How wrong he was. 

 

The moment he cleared all the stairs and stepped onto the sidewalk, a hand smacked his shoulder. Keith reacted without even thinking about it. He swung his arm around, intending to grab the bicep and force whoever it was attached to to kneel on the ground. He grasped air. A yelp from below floated to his ears. McClain had squatted down and was eyeing up at him with accusing eyes. 

 

Heat flooded Keith’s face at the sight of the guy. He snapped out his phone, fingers vibrating so badly he made a typo every word. 

 

“Listen, I should say sorry. I — “ McClain started but Keith had already shoved his phone to McClain’s face.

 

“‘You almost cost me my job’,” McClain read the text out loud then dragged his hand over his face, kneaded his eyes, and finally said. “That’s why I’m apologi — !”

 

Bubbles of hissing anger popped within Keith’s ears, drowning out all the other sounds around him. 

 

:Stalking!? For fucking real! I don’t even know who in the fucking world you are. I have no reason to stalk you!:

 

Keith showed the text to McClain again, his arm vibrating from the suppressed anger that he had yet an outlet for.  

 

To his unwelcome surprise, McClain let out a disbelieving laugh, flicking his chin upwards to stare down at him for a brief second before getting into his space again. Keith curled his lips in an open scowl. This close, he was forced to notice the gleaming amber in McClain blue eyes, reflecting the shine of the nearby street lamp. 

 

“It’s Lance McClain for your information. And you,” McClain narrowed his eyes. Keith was struck with the familiarity of it. It was an expression of odium, the same one he was subjected to when he was still a student from the Academy. “And I know just who you are, Keith I-am-too-good-for-Altea-Academy-so-I-drop-out Kogane.”


	3. Keith

Anger flushed out of his system, down to the last drop. In its place, a weary tiredness slotted in, slowly branching out until it clawed into every nook in his body and planted seeds of emptiness. Tangling vines guided his hand into putting his phone back inside his pocket, adjusting the straps of his backpack and his legs into moving.

 

_ Drop-out _ . That was what he was. An entitled student who failed to understand how lucky he was to have a spot in the Advanced Alchemy class of Altea Alchemy Academy. A drop out had no rights to converse with someone having a hard-earning place at A3.

 

"What the-? Hey!" McClain called out, his soles skidding on the ground as he jogged after Keith. He pulled at Keith's backpack. Keith robotically stood still. "Are you seriously bolting? We aren't bloody done yet! Rude much." 

 

The vines urged him to look over his shoulders. Keith did as told. He couldn't see Lance's face well, what with the light at his back, but somehow, Lance faltered in his jabbering and immediately let go. Keith didn't think twice. He resumed putting one leg in front of the other. He walked and walked, until he found himself back in his room in the apartment. The room stayed in its twilight state, not too dark to be afraid of, not too bright to make out the emblazoned titles of the books on his chair. Keith reached under the bed with his whole arm, swiping his hand from left to right pendular. A fine layer of dust and cotton fluff coated his arm when his fingers finally brushed against a square, palm-sized box. Keith pulled it out. Broken pieces of chalks jiggling chaotically as he wiped off the first layer of dust to crack the lid open. Powdered chalk dust burst out of their confine and readily attack his olfactory organs. He sneezed, disrupting even more dust and irritating his nose. All the pieces of chalk were too small to hold properly so Keith made do. He cleared a portion of the wooden floor, kicking clothing items left and right and gently nudging a book to the side. 

 

He wasn't going for something big and monumental, all he wanted was to make a wooden figurine from the floor, just the basic shape, with nothing highly detailed. Darkness reigned in his little messy room; warm lights from the street below reached out to help but his curtains were drawn shut. They lingered just outside, waiting to be let in, to shine his place up. Light or no lights, there were no differences, he had sketched the transmutation circles millions of time until his arms knew the movement well enough he could draw it in his sleep. Keith kneeled on the portion of the floor he had just cleaned out, hand brushing absently over the patch to  uselessly clear away dust. The circle he drew was perfect. The pentagram of elements was equally divided. A containment circle and power core. Keith pressed his hands down on the floor, palm flat. Nothing happened. No bright lights signaling the presence of the energy that spiderwebbed the world and fueled the transmutation. No rush of exhilarating energy that ran through his body.

 

Nothing. 

 

Keith had no idea how long he sat there, mind exceptionally blank of whirring thoughts, when the front door opened with a soft click and light sneaked inside his room through the gap between the door and the floor. Shiro slid across the floor on socked feet, minute disruptions to the silence, and stopped in front of his room. To anyone, he might as well have been floating above the floor, soundless. Keith wasn’t anyone. 

 

The knob jangled, normal noise level under any circumstances, but right now it reverberated loudly, echoing back and forth within the empty chambers of his mind. The jangling stopped, only to be replaced by a series of chinking of metal on metal as Shiro worked his way to unlock the door. Keith was familiar with the noise sequence of Shiro picking the lock to his room; two consecutive snicks, one muffled, then the final click of the door unlocking. Shiro swung the door open slowly; the hinges squeaked. He wedged himself through the Shiro-sized crack, and closed it behind him, hinges squeaking. 

 

Keith felt Shiro squat down besides him and a finger poke his side. 

 

“We need to get that oiled. And here I thought nothing can be louder than Matt’s old cockatoo singing Macarena at 3am,” Shiro chuckled, meticulously folding some piece of clothing and setting them aside so he could sit down. 

 

Shiro was cracking a joke, Keith knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was elsewhere, in an icy crevice of of hopelessness.

 

Shiro shone his phone flashlight on the transmutation circle, humming low. Keith watched him study the lines, uncaring even when Shiro undid the gold-lined porcelain bangle on his wrist and clasped it onto Keith’s. It sat cold and heavy, a finger too wide for his wrist. Keith drew his eyes from it to Shiro’s hopeful, pleading stare. He didn’t get the point of doing this even as he moved his hands sluggishly from their sleeping spot besides him and replicated the placement before. Nothing happened again, though this time, he felt a smudge of some energy. He had no idea why he did this. It was a tried and true statement years ago, that he was the only one out of eight billion people to not be able to do alchemy. Keith undid the claps and handed it back to Shiro. The shirt-thing lying next to Keith was unfortunate enough to be lying next to Keith as he made a wild grasp for something to wipe the chalk drawing. Shiro stood up, tsk-tsked disapprovingly at his mistreatment of good garments and took it from Keith’s hand. He shone the phone light on it. Patches of white splattered the back of his dark T-shirt, giving it a marble-like makeover. 

 

“I’m gonna do some marking in the kitchen, you are very welcome to help. And that is not an offer. This is a desperate cry for help.” Shiro said severely, ruffling his hair. Keith let him even though he knew he was going to get hell when it came to combing his hair back into an acceptable state. Shiro was relentless and overzealous in his hair ruffling. When his hand left, Keith instantly missed the reassurance and warmth it provided, but given how his hair felt like when his hand came up to inspect it, Keith was glad Shiro decided to stop. His hair stood up on all ends like a dandelion puff-ball, no matter how much he pressed and smoothed them back down. Shiro dragged his feet all the way out of his room and into the living room where he threw himself bodily onto the sofa if the whining screech of the spring was anything to go by. Alone again in the dark but less so in his mind, Keith snapped the box of chalks shut and pushed them back under the bed. 

 

Shiro half-sat-half-lay on the sofa, looking at a folder of paper and making sporadic ticks onto it when Keith shuffled out to join. Paper strewn around him, on the sofa and on the floor, in neat, organized piles. There was a spot suspiciously clear of any paper on the floor. Shiro pointed his pen at Keith then jabbed it repeatedly at the spot. Keith raised an eyebrow. Shiro didn’t bate an eyelash, so he resigned to his fate and manoeuvred around the papers to get to his assigned spot. He picked a paper out off the nearest pile. A pop quiz for Alchemy Theory 101, all book knowledge, dry, and easy to mark. 

 

Keith lost himself in the relaxed monotone, going through piles of test papers at quick speed. 

 

Time passed, red marks slowly but steadily appeared on every paper. Keith couldn’t tell if his legs were still there or got lost somewhere in the buzzing of pins and needles so he kicked Shiro’s foot to test. He went off the mark and topped a tower of marked papers instead. That got Shiro’s attention anyway, who gave him a baleful glare and bent down to stack them back up again. The tiredness in his eyes shown starkly. Keith does the only thing he could think off to get Shiro to get a break. He shook his fist a little to get Shiro’s attention. Shiro sighed, exasperated, but obliged all the same and they played rock paper scissors to see who would cook. 

 

Paper wrapped rock. Keith won. Shiro always went for rock. 

 

Keith suspects Shiro was just humoring him. So as Shiro trudged to the kitchen to make dinner, Keith went back to the stack of exam papers two third finished of a standard enough pop quiz with an open question at the end. The one he was looking at has an interesting theory about transmuting light particles, the same idea that Keith had regarding light alchemy. It was not much about rearranging the particles into something else because light couldn’t be anything else. Light alchemy stopped at breaking down the particles and wove it around alchemists. 

 

Keith gave it a tick at and a plus and moved on to another in the pile. Too engrossed in his personal mission to get things done, he didn’t notice Shiro silently sneaking around the sofa, up to unforgivable mischief no doubt. Keith preened, looking at around ten more papers to mark when suddenly, he was roughly pushed off balance. His elbows hit the floor painfully. As shiro was swaying on his legs with laughter, he swiped Shiro’s leg out from underneath him. What he didn’t plan for was for Shiro to land on top of him and further pressing him down onto he floor. Shirt rolled off, got up and extended his hand for Keith. Shiro pulled him into a headlock and viciously drilled his head with his knuckles. Keith just give up because Shiro is too fucking buff for Keith to handle and the sooner he gave up, the earlier Shiro grew bored and let him go. 

 

Shiro did let him go, chuckling as if torturing Keith was some great revolutionary endeavor. Keith didn’t need to see to know his hair was now mimicking that troll doll’s poofy, electrified mess. He reached up anyway, in a vain, hopeless attempt to at least speed up the de-poofening progress. His fingers brushed over his neck briefly. He didn’t mean to do it  but his fingers unwittingly traced the hills of scars at the nape of his neck, three deformed strips of skin that had been with him for as long as he remembered; a sweltering hot July night, wandering around the streets, hot blood sketching rivers on his back, then someone found him and flashes of antiseptic. The skin was dead, he couldn’t tell whether his fingers were still there or not. Keith traced the ragged edges, instead. Those scars could be a key to his past but he could never know. Shiro called his name softly, Keith jumped in his spot anyway and hastily brought his hand down to fiddle with a pen.

 

Shiro shoved a plate of mashed potato and croissant in his face. 

 

He frowned heavily, eyeing the offending swirl of nonsense on the plate, and scribbled on a piece of paper. :I don’t understand your concept of dinner.:

 

“Like yours is any better. An apple was it?” 

 

:Hey, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.:

 

“Sure. Now eat up and help me with the papers. Altea, I’m gonna die of stress before old age takes me.”

 

Keith nodded like a bobbing doll and bit into the croissant, flakes raining all over the carpet. 

 

* * *

 

He dreamt of ash and blood 

 

Of rills of red gurgling shrilly in an ash-filled garden.

 

Flame.

 

Golden screeching. 

 

Blurry pain and a sense of letting go. 

 

Not that he ever remembered his dreams. This one wouldn’t be any different. 

* * *

 

Scientists declared that waking up on your own, without the piano riff of alarm interrupting your bio-clock, connoted sufficient sleep. 

 

Shiro, a star PhD student, assistant teacher at A3, and enrouted to be the youngest researcher at Altea R&D, must not have heard of this fact. 

 

Keith remembered tossing and turning to find a position so sleep could hit him with a sledgehammer and knock him out when it had been dark and quiet outside. The next thing his brain was conscious enough to register was the cold of something squishing his nose down and cutting off his air regulation. His legs thrashed out instinctively and connected squarely with something made of body. The thing grunted, removing the barricade off of his face and Keith bolted up. A bout of vertigo hit him as he whipped his head to the side to  glared blearily at the Shiro-shaped pile on the floor, who had the gall to wince in pain after the annoyance he dared put Keith through first thing in the morning. 

 

"The Altea family had chosen our city to host their yearly phoenix migration this November,” Shiro said without preamble, solemn and factual.

 

That woke Keith up. He yanked his phone from under the pillow to quickly type in. 

 

:Why? They haven't picked our city in like 20 years. What gives?:

 

“Beats me. Iverson heard of it at three in the morning and has been hounding me for a plan."

 

:News this morning?: News usually came out at eight sharp every morning. Iverson getting the words as early as three must only mean one thing-

 

“Connection.” Shiro finished his thought, taking the tablet from the bed to show Keith the article. 

 

Keith hummed in distracted acknowledgement, busy being stared at with the headline of the city news in capitalized bold.

 

**_THE WAIT IS OVER!_ **

**_Lady Allura Favors Arus over Balthazar for the 20th Phoenixes’ Migration_ **

 

Below was a picture of the Lady Allura in all her fierceness; long white hair pulled back in a tight bun, a dark blue half capeoutfit. She had her hands clasp together, one bare, the other in a smooth black leather glove. She looked to be praying but Keith just knew whatever happened next was classified and not supposed to go out of Altea R&D. 

 

He skimmed the text quickly. Paragraphs waxing poetic about the power the Altea held, how important and honored it was for Arus to be chosen yada yada. He finally found the date the phoenixes’ migration was planned to happen. 

 

November 22. Today was September 3rd. Approximately two and a half month. 

 

“Iverson plans a school-wide event to welcome Lady Altea,” Shiro said, taking the proffered tablet back. “She is coming to the Academy for some sort of inspection.”

 

An event? Keith wrinkled his nose. Students weren’t show monkeys. 

 

“I know you won’t like it.” Shiro chuckled. “But one student can get a meeting with Lady Altea and be among the entourage that follow her to the phoenix migration. The closest you can get to any an Altea.”

 

Keith raised an eyebrow. :Iverson is surprisingly generous this semester?:

 

Iverson wasn’t known for his love for students, he taught them like one would train a navy SEAL, relentless, heartless. He had had the opportunity to be taught by Iverson once. One hour of non-stop circle-sketching. Keith, the exempted one, sat on the edge of the once raised auditorium now flat with non-finished wood panelling following Iverson’s gruff and unannounced alchemy, and watched on as everyone sketched circles after circles for one hour forty five minutes straight. 

 

“A perfect circle is the foundation for successful alchemy! What do you call this soldier? That’s right. My wife’s triangle sandwich! Redraw, stat!” Iverson shouted at a girl, wrenching the tiny bit of chalk from her chalky fingers, and drew a perfect circle next to her not-exactly symmetrical one. “Copy that. 1000 times.” 

 

Iverson moved on to another victim, completely oblivious - or just chose to be selectively blind - to the gesture that was heatedly directed at his back. The girl jerked her right forearm up, left hand tightly gripped her bicep; white knuckles from clenching too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent. Her crossed-legged form exuded an animosity that was like hot wax - flash stinging but harmless and superficial. Her friend poked her in the ribs and mouthed something threatening if the glower on her face was anything to go by. The girl was ready to snap something back but Iverson glanced back in their direction at that moment and they both dove back to work.

 

Keith went back to his sketching, too. The page was already filled with a myriad of circles, different size but all perfectly round. He flipped to a new page of his notebook, wrist moving counterclockwise habitually. Iverson’s demoralizing succor tended to lose its effect after a month but that didn’t mean students started warming up to him. . He completed circles after circles, all perfect and alchemy-suitable, with little attention paid. It wasn’t like he couldn’t join in the class just because of his little mishap.There was a small pocket of blank space between two massive sized circles, so Keith doodled in a row of six small teeny circles that were definitely too small for practicality. 

 

Finishing the last curve, he took a moment to appreciate it. It pleased him when the page was covered fully in circles of no specified order. This would give every tryophobe a bad case of scare but not Keith. Circles were life itself, they directed the flow of energy that powered alchemy. Circles were everywhere and empowering. Keith was about to start on the third page when Iverson’s thumping footsteps got closer and closer to his place, little vibration of hard soles on wood spread around his body through his rear end. Keith had an impression if he put his pen down on the paper now, he could draw the seismic map of Iversion’s footstep. 

 

Iverson’s shadow fell onto his sketchbook. Keith looked up then, not an ounce of the dread or trepidation thrumming he had heard others talk so much about when Iverson stared them down. Keith kept his gaze unwavering, so did Iverson, who seemed to be inspecting him like one would a genome of microbes growing on petri glass, but instead of a microscope, it was through the lens of a telescope he was looking. 

 

A phantom sense of mischief picked his mouth up into a not-smile at the image his mind called up. Iverson’s brow twitched once and he broke contact, glowering at him instead.

 

"I read through your paper, Kogane." He started. "Thought-provoking and unorthodox as ever." 

 

Keith had a hard time quantifying the amount of truthfulness and mocking woven between those two words, basing off of Iverson's expression was a no go for this. His expression alternated between wanting-to-pummel-rationality-into-students or expressionless. Right now he had his blank face on so Keith opted for a safe reaction. He nodded once, curtly. 

 

"A sixth element." Iverson continued. "Souls." 

 

Keith nodded again, heart drumming. He tried to loosen the white knuckled hold around the pencil. 

 

"Unsupported theory, Kogane. Submit another papers of the required 5-page-length and not 20.   Failure to do so will lead to a failed course and demotion to the basics course. Are we clear?"

 

The words sliced through him as hot butter through knife, quick and messy. It left hot trails on his self-esteem, smoldering. Iverson disregarded his papers, that was nothing. But he disregarded a paper about souls, people - humans with personalities - just in a different form. Keith couldn't take this. He would not stand for this. The pen snapped in his fist. It pealed sonorously across the wide expanse of the auditorium that had slipped into the plane of silence to watch the drama unfold.

 

"You disagree with me soldier?" Iverson intoned gruffly, curving his back downwards to press his weather-worn face into Keith's space, eyes hard as steel, daring him to argue back. 

 

So Keith did the first thing that came to his mind. He shot to his full height in one smooth movement. Iverson moved back, faintly surprised, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the eventual crash. The top of Keith's head knocked against Iverson's bearded chin with a satisfying thump, shocking him enough he had to move his feet from their rooted, official stance. The auditorium collectively gasped. Someone took a picture and was dumb enough to have flash on. 

 

Keith attention was solely on Iverson. His hands shook, vision narrowed on Iverson alone. Tangy metal invaded his palate as Iverson regained his composure and stared him into submission with his cement colored eyes. Keith could never get angry if it was just for him, indignation and annoyed but never true anger. But this, this was the protectiveness, the need to prove to Iverson that souls were as real as the air; not seeing air did not make air non-existent, the same worked for souls, rarely did someone encounter a soul and that should not disprove the reality where souls were real and among humans. 

 

“Objections?” 

 

Yes! Keith wanted to scream-type - write, anything - to get his frustration out, but something held him back. Maybe it was Iverson’s challenging gaze of disbelief, ready to shoot him down once he started explaining. Or it were the hungry-eager gazes of students around him, phones held up in the air ready for streaming and live-reporting. 

 

Anger simmered down; nerve started taking roots as Keith realizes how much attention was directed at him. His breath came out at uneven intervals. Iverson’s looming form pressed down on him, a body bag slowly being zipped upwards to his neck, his chin, his nose, his eyes! His mind screamed at him to run, to flee, to bite the hands that were zipping the body bag closed, to touch off the inky black that was ganging up on him and to take a leap of faith through the eddying velvet of scrutiny pirouette for a shot at survival. The cloth were billowing closer and closer; menacing whispers cut him to the quick. Keith shut his eyes. What use could having the eyes closed when he couldn’t see through the darkness anyway? Garbled hissing kept undulating straight for his mind. He couldn’t shut his ears.  The last dregs of strength threatened to leave him; it urged him to run, feebly like a candle in winter wind. 

 

So run Keith did. He slammed into something. He didn’t stop.  He ran, out of the school premise, a place less dark, onto the familiar streets that led him to the house. Keys jangled uselessly in his hands. Keith broke his way inside, instead. And there he collapsed, back pressing against the off-hinged door in an insufficient replacement of a lock, and stilled. 

 

Keith hadn’t gone back to class since then. He might as well drop out at the rate. 

 

“You know,” Shiro ventured, hesitantly, finger smoothing the sharp corner of his tablet, a strange thing for him; Shiro was always so sure of himself. “I can put in a good word for you at the academy-“

 

Keith wasted no time at all in showing Shiro his response, which was set up as a text shortcut. 

 

“”We have been through this more than one time, the answer is still no. Drop it.”,”Shiro read the text out loud and sighed. 

 

Keith narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t a sigh in defeat, too short and nasal for that. No, that was Shiro’s I’ll-definitely-bring-it-up-again sigh. 

 

“A chance to talk to Lady Altea, Keith! You can ask her why you can’t do alchemy.” 

 

Keith didn’t think ‘again’ would mean immediately. 

 

Shiro was still eyeing him with the eyes of a kicked puppy, hunching further in his place at the foot of Keith’s bed. He just looked so sad and desperate to help, Keith almost gave in. 

 

Almost. 

 

Keith flung his pillow straight for Shiro’s head. The impact canceled out the puppy effect and Shiro blinked owlishly at him. 

 

“What the-? Keith, you are sitting a literal arm length away. Was throwing a pillow to get my attention really necessary?”

 

:What’s for breakfast?: Keith typed, disregarding Shiro’s rhetoric remark altogether. Really, Shiro should be used to objects flying around the house whenever Keith was around to  not ask questions.

 

“Quiche. Matt just passed by earlier with shoeboxes of quiche from Colleen.” Shiro stood up and followed Keith out, pointing to a row of shoeboxes stacked neatly on the countertop. Keith counted no less than twelve. He did some quick math in his head. If Colleen baked quiches like she usually did, they should be the size of his palm and about an inch and a half thick. A box then would have roughly twelve quiches packed in it. That meant —

 

Shiro flung open the fridge’s doors with a flourish more suitable for velveteen stage curtains than the bland boring door. The fridge, once smelt of empty and disuse cool air, was now soaked up in the freshly baked scent of pastry, healthy vegetables and meat. The second shelf was packed with golden quiches, rows after rows of nutritious treats neatly arranged courtesy of Shiro. 

 

“From left to right. Mushroom ground beef, asparagus shredded chicken, spinach red pepper bacon, and shrimp carrot.” Shiro gestured to the respective row for each variation, eager and excited like a kid showing off their sketchy portrait of family members. “I’ll have all the red pepper.”

 

:Cool, I’ll take all mushrooms: 

 

“No way. I like mushrooms too.”

 

:Give me four-fifths of asparagus chicken:

 

“25% of shrimp. Final call.” Shiro divvied up. “It’s this or nothing, Keith.”

 

:Deal: Keith raised his palm, seeking for the agreement. Neither him nor Shiro would remember their share anyway and end up snacking on them indiscriminately. All food was food. 

 

Shiro punched a fist to his raised palm with a loud smack and enough force to make his arm recoil even though Keith had braced himself for it. The impact sent minute vibrations crawling across his bone. This was no accidental hard punch, and judging by the cock-a-hock smile pulling the corner of his lips up in a deep curve, Shiro definitely planned this. 

 

Keith glared out of the corner of his eyes, so hard he could feel the physical strain inflicted on the eyeballs, and vacated to the sofa with a mushroom quiche in hand while Shiro took his preferred seat at the dining table, expertly carrying four quiches lining his forearm. Why Shiro felt the need to do that while he could just reach over the back of his chair, open the fridge, and take the quiche whenever he wanted to, Keith had absolutely no idea. Keith settled down on the right side of the sofa, the Keith-shaped groove as welcoming and fitting as ever. Rough hard fabric smoothed out by the many times Keith had habitually claimed that side. It dipped a little deeper too, compared to the rest of the sofa, the springs not as coiled and poised to support others’ weight. Keith liked his sofa groove, a familiar spot within their familiar apartment that he had claimed his. Shimmying around to find that one exact position, Keith bit into the quiche, still warm and soft. After the disastrous dinner of mashed potato and croissant Shiro rustled up that had him consumed four tea bags in over one and a half hour, Colleen’s quichee was truly Michelin star cuisine. Seasoned just right and heaved with care and thoughtfulness, Keith could taste “home” in the little golden palm sized treats. And Colleen made around 144 quichees. The oven at the Holts weren’t the multi-layered, industrial one that churned out baked goods in dozens within an hour. To make this many and still have them warm, she must have woken up *really* early. Keith unconsciously slowed his chewing, guilt began pooling at the back of his throat. 

 

:Did Matt say when Mrs. Holt woke up this morning?: Keith typed, pushing the rest of the quiche in his mouth. He almost couldn’t chew. 

 

“Colleen.” Shiro automatically corrected before sighing. “Do you think he would have said had I asked?"

 

Keith didn't comment. 

 

"Around two, three A.M I would say."

 

Keith swallowed with difficulty, food stuck somewhere along the esophagus and pushing in vain at the wall of guilt that rolled forward at the thought of Colleen. She was too kind, far too kind Keith had no idea how to respond to that kindness and repay. She would sometimes do such nice things like baking enough quiches to feed them both for two weeks and Keith was hit with a wave of guilt because all he ever did to show her the thanks and appreciation she deserved was occasionally going over to the Holts, having dinner with them all and scrambling to help her with cleaning dishes and such. 

 

:Should we get her something?: Keith typed in a message quickly. Shiro was way better at this thanking business than Keith ever was. If he thought more about this, he would be too guilt-ridden to eat all the quiches Colleen had spent five hours plus making and that, in turns, would make him even more guilty.  

 

Shiro shook his head lightly, spinning on his chair to look at Keith. "Colleen wouldn't like it. But we're coming over the Holts on the weekend, she will be thrilled."

 

Keith wouldn't exactly say thrilled. Happier more like. Colleen always hugged him tightly as hello, never perturbed with his awkward arms hovering behind, uncertain of where to place them. She always smoothed a hand over the back of his head too, right where the rake of scars marred smooth skin. Keith liked her hug. It felt like a wishy-washy, fabricated memory of a mother hug he might have had at some point before he came to the orphanage. 

 

Keith still couldn’t shrug off the guilt, but Shiro understood the social interactions more than Keith ever hoped to and he said going to the Holts would at least somewhat repay Colleen by a dinky margin then Keith had no objections. If only his heart rate would listen and slow down though, this dilemma would be resolved in full. As he was wont to do whenever he needed to calm down, Keith reached for the scythe resting against the back of the sofa, a serenely glowing curved blade on an equally lustrous stick, out of place and at the same time, not. He laid the blade on top of his crossed legs, letting the handle stretching along the length of the sofa. It weighted something and nothing, Schrodinger Cat -like, simultaneously here and not here. Keith absently smoothed a finger along the blade, left hand rummaging for the flat stone he habitually stuffed between the crack of the cushions and wondered for an ordinal number of time if this was a puzzle piece to his past. The blade pulsated; purred even, if Keith allowed himself to think of a blade used to wish souls a safe travel to the after-life a pet. Without a modicum of polite warning, thrumming pain zipped along his arms  Keith felt his eyes twitch. Seemed like his fingertips had located the whetstone, by crashing against it.

 

The handle slotted snugly in his palm. The sharpener was rather heavy for something its size, with two slabs of whetstone skillfully melded onto either side of the wooden handle. He needed water to start sharpening and right now, he was comfortable enough standing up to take a bowl of water from the kitchen was too much of hard work. So he looked around, hoping for something that had water. A glass vase housing a bunch of daisy- and sunflower-like flowers of crimson sat serenely on the coffee table. Their neighbor, a florist, came again it seemed. She visited them with an arrangement of flowers from her store every Tuesday without fail. More kindness that needed to be repaid somehow. 

 

Keith carefully pressed the flowers to the side so he have enough space to stick the stone-end of the sharpener into the water without damaging the frail stalks. 

 

"Why, Keith?" Shiro exhaled defeatedly. "Why?"

 

Keith merely stuck his tongue out at him, eyes squinting for good measure. He let the stone souse in the flower vase for a minute before pulling it out and getting to work. 

 

As before, the glow oscillated in sync with his slow sharpening, a deep grateful sigh of a doorman finally getting a time to sit down after his shift. Keith squeezed out his anxiety, watching it be smoothed out of existence every time the whetstone (lia qua) scritched against the blade. Right this moment, in his groove on the sofa, arm moving in a circle in repetition as he worked to return the sharp edge to the scythe, Keith breathed out slowly, floating on the familiar movement, like a fallen leaf riding along the burbling summer stream through the age-old woods of evergreen, unfrazzled in his repose. One side done, Keith turned the handle a half circle, the pointy tip now pointed inwards, and started the process all over again, drawing uniform loops with each arm movement.  

 

Before he knew it, he had reached the tip of the blade. A sigh of contentment got loose as he ran his fingers along the sharpened edge. 

 

"You look like you're doing a mute show. No pun intended." Shiro commented airily.

 

Keith automatically flipped him a finger. Shiro’s jokes were forever bland and lackluster. Or that was just Keith, who had spent roughly 17 years being Shiro’s shadow and built up an  impressive immune system for his jokes. 

 

“Mind giving me a visual?”

 

The sketch that he tossed Shiro’s way might not be the most detailed but it got the idea across. A line for the shaft and three-fourths of a crescent for an incorrect depiction of the not that curved blade. He even added two small circles for the little bells dangling where the blade joined the handle. And since it was a pencil sketch, Keith jotted down a few words. 

 

“‘Glowing, smooth as marble, very sharp, very light, too. Not any known materials.’” Shiro hummed thoughtfully, reading his description out loud as he inspected the drawing from a 90 degree angle. 

 

Keith bounced to his feet and crossed the distance between the sofa and the dining table in two long strides, scythe held at the ready. He swung it at Shiro. At the recess of his mind, he wondered if Shiro would be cleaved in half, just like the 2536 souls Keith had sent off to the afterworld before, and leave him all alone in the world of the living with nothing to hang on to. 

 

The scythe passed harmlessly through Shiro’s chest. Like it always did to every living, breathing human being. The relief that swelled in him was enough to warrant a wide smile. So to demonstrate to Shiro the sharpness of the blade, Keith pressed a finger against the tip of the blade. Insensible as feather brushing against skin, it punctured his skin. Blood surged out, a little dome of red gaining volume little by little until Shiro pressed a tissue on it. 

 

"I know it's sharp Keith, no need for a demonstration." He tsk-ed disapprovingly, pressing a pre-drawn alchemy circle on the palm of Keith’s hand. 

 

Keith watched it light up in blue, standard color of glow for medial alchemy, and die down just as quickly. The prick was too minuscule for Keith to notice any change visually, and frankly hyper not life-threatening, but Shiro grabbed the digit and pulled it close to his face to inspect anyway. Keith let out an exasperated sigh when Shiro deemed he wasn’t going to keel over from infection the moment he blinked. He got a cuff upside the head for that. 

 

“Cheeky piece of moldy bread.”

 

Keith merely stuck his tongue out, again, and zoomed for the door, in an urge for a late-morning walk. As he slammed the door shut, Shiro’s muffled “Don’t get lost” wriggling through the cracks under the door brought a fond smile to his face. 

 

Never in a million years would he understand why Shiro chose him, a quiet, moody kid in the orphanage, to stick around but he was forever grateful for it. 

 

Little did he know how his opinion of Shiro would plummet when he came back in the evening. 


	4. Lance

Lance stretched his arms across the table and laid his forehead on top, aware of the many hundreds students that ate and spilled food and drinks on top of the cheap plastic surface and daily lackluster, insufficient cleaning. Considering the insanely high tuition fee, Lance would have thought Altea Academy of Alchemy’s canteen was more Michelin-star worthy with candelabra and caviar table spreads than this high-school, plastic wasteland rip-off. 

 

“Move your arms,” Pidge grouched out, fingers flying over the keyboard, the keys singing out like a chorus of doors on a faulty latch. Tak ta ta tak tak ta tak tak..

 

“You forgot the magical words.” Lance mumbled, not bothering to lift his face off the surprisingly comfortable, albeit not so hygienic, surface. The words came out in a garbled jumble of noise but he believed he got the idea across. 

 

Pidge apparently resided on a different, more socially-inept plane of existence than he did if her displeased grumble and the sudden weight and heat of the laptop on his hands were any indicators. 

 

“Hey.” Lance wiggled his hands. As much as he wanted to do the tablecloth trick with his hands, Pidge would hack into the school system and change his grades if he let her precious laptop land the wrong way. He needed his grades to survive A3’s advanced alchemy so much that he couldn’t risk Pidge’s seemingly-empty-but-not-really threat.

 

“Your fault for not clearing the space.”

 

“You could ask again, you know.”

 

“Lance, I have three exams coming up tomorrow and bugs to fix in the system. Niceness is the last thing on my list. Are you gonna remove your hands or not?”

 

“Yes, yes, I am removing my perfectly moisturized fingers from under your laptop.” Pidge was crass, ill-tempered and generally dangerous to mess with when she was stressed; the “balancing a wasp nest on the nose while tightroping over a chasm/  studying three month worth of alchemy theory the night before exam while having a flu/ “I’ll just close my eyes for five minutes after alarm goes off” kind of danger.

 

Pidge barked out a mordant laughter, lifting her laptop just a smudge so he could slide his hands closer to himself and rest his forehead on top of them before turning back to her work, all attempt at conversations and jokes from now on would only be met with a searing glare. 

 

With Hunk still in class and his phone dead in the bag, Lance was royally and utterly bored. Around them, conversations were muted and far and few in-between. The noisiest sound was someone unwrapping their sandwich. Lance blew a stray strands of hair away from his eyes. Since when had the canteen become a second library? He was here for food and chill time for god’s sakes, not another scrunching time? Exam times made everyone go a bit crazy and high-strung. 

 

The mood and guilt almost overwhelmed him though. Almost. Lance was unzipping his bag to take out at least a stack of paper to sketch circles when his ears picked up the sound of rubber soles on ceramic with this distinct heels dragging only belonged to Hunk. He stood up to wave Hunk over, sending his chair skidding back with a stringent screech that ricocheted around the wide, silent space. The displeasing glares directed his way could vaporize an ocean. Pidge’s was the most potent. Lance shrugged them all of, a showman shaking off his cape ready before the stadium of audience, smiled and mouthed ‘sorry’ to anyone who was still eyeing him heatedly. Attention never truly bothered him. He couldn’t say the same for Hunk though, who jogged over to them, shoulders hunched and a palm up to shield against the force of the collective hostility; nervousness had overtaken his cheerful demeanor. 

 

Lance made sure to rest his elbow on Hunk's shoulders a bit more forcefully, deliberately loosening his posture to the point of resembling a piece of boiled lasagna noodle, to ease the residual nerves he had indirectly caused out of Hunk's system. 

 

"Hey Lance, hey Pidge," Hunk whispered, eyes darting around the area as if someone was going to lunge at him the moment he spoke. 

 

Pidge grunted. Lance pressed his right fist against Hunk's shoulder in greetings, yawning. 

 

“How was Iver-? A jaw-dislocating yawn distorted Hunk’s words but Lance got the idea just well enough. “-son?”

 

“Oh hell, stop yawning you two,” Pidge cut in, her words garbled as she rubbed both hands over her face and pushed her glasses to rest on the crown of her rat’s nest before diving back to work, her green eyes four times deader than they normally were.

 

Hunk sent her a wary look and discreetly slapped a napkin onto his face, no doubt to cover another yawn. Lance couldn’t blame the big guy for his apprehension. So he did what he did best. He talked. 

 

“Iverson? Ha, same old circle absolutist.” Lance uncurled his index finger with difficulty, the joints locked tight in a perennial chalk hold, to show Hunk the desiccated plums his fingers had turned into from prolonged chalk dust exposure. He bewailed openly. “My moisturizing regime can’t keep up with Iverson’s teaching.” 

 

The weight of Hunk’s grounding arm thrown across his shoulders were as comforting as ever, a comfort blanket of woven sunbeams, drying away the weariness that clung to his skin like a sweat in a humid summer evening. 

 

"You have time for skin care routine?" Pidge rubbed her eyes so vigorously Lance's eyelids experienced visceral pain. 

 

"I wake up at 5am, Pidge."

 

"Such dedication," She muttered, arching her back over the back of the chair in a ginormous stretch. 

 

She unknowingly hit a girl whizzing behind, who had a cup of coffee in her hand. Deep black liquid sloshed over the brim, splashing over her ringed hand and dripping to the floor. While Pidge sat there, gaping at the mess her hyperbolized sitting exercising effected, Lance flew into action, the gentleman that he was, and handed the lady some tissues, charming smile firmly in place. 

 

“Here, let me h-“

 

The girl rushed past him like a Ferrari running full speed through a puddle, splashing him in a curtain of dirty water, completely ignoring his proffered tissue to salvage the little amount of coffee that still clung to her hand. 

 

“Better luck next time,” Pidge ragged, a rare true laugh breaking through the ever stew her face was in. 

 

Lance, as much as he was sour, couldn’t help the sardonic smile the got loose on his face before it turned into a bout of stifled chuckles as he fist bumped Hunk and Pidge. No matter, as long as he could get his friends laughing, a bit embarrassment was a decent bargain. The wet tissue hang limply in his hand, clueless of its purpose. He couldn’t very well put it back into the packet and the few drops of coffee on the floor was going to dry up, the sugary remains would suck shoes to the ground. Lance bent down, wiping away the droplets. 

 

“Did you see her set of rings though? Those must have taken  quite some gold to plate.” Hunk wondered out loud, tapping his fingers as he did some calculation. “20 carats of melted gold.” 

 

Lance did see her filigree finger bracelet, a golden ring and an equally golden phoenix-shaped cuff hugging her wrist snugly with its elegant wingspan, connected together with a chain transmuted from the little amount of platinum on the original pin.

 

“Oh right. I haven’t seen your jewellery today, Lance.” Pidge closed her laptop - finally, and crossed her short teeny legs on the chair comfortingly. “What is this today? A nose piercing? Tiara?”

 

Lance huffed, as Altea-royally as he could, an soft exhale through the nose that just screamed “admire me” - he failed -, and brushed his hair aside to show off the intricate, golden full ear cuff he had transmuted this morning before coming to class. The dangling chains made funny little noise when he turned his head fully to the side so Pidge and Hunk could appreciate his brilliance. 

 

“Isn’t the phoenix too small? I mean what’s the standard size again? One inch wide at minimum.” Hunk barged right into his personal space to press a ruler against the phoenix stud on Lance’s ear. “This is not even one-third of an inch. But I mean who cares anyway? Seriously what’s the worst that could happen? A teacher might see this and report you to the principal and you will lose your scholarship and-“

 

"Hunk, breathe." Lance placed both hands on his shoulders and gingerly pushed him to sit back down. Hunk's ability to think of millions of possibilities made him their voice of reason and at the same time, patient zero of anxiety in their little group. "Dough puffing up in the oven. Cute perfectly round cakes." 

 

That eased Hunk enough for him to flop back down onto his chair like like a sack of rice all the while sighing dreamily.

 

“I just love baking. Flour raising. Browning,” he said, facing the glass dome of the spaciously cheap plastic-filed canteen, looking as peaceful as a mummy with his hands crossed across his chest. 

 

“Uh huh, just like you love your girlfriend, I get.” Pidge flicked the corpse of some food at Hunk but overshot and hit Lance on the cheek instead.

 

“What!” Hunk squawked, coinciding with Lance’s disgusted hiss. Half of the hall swerved their heads around to look at the source of commotion, and Hunk, who was sporting a deep shade of red and had his nose turned up to the sky to notice the attention. 

 

“What? Am I wrong?” Pidge challenged, lights glinting off her glasses, briefly hiding her devious gander. Lance hid a smile, too. Hunk was easy to mess with whenever Shay was involved.

 

“Shay is not my girlfriend-“ Hunk plowed right over their synchronized “yet”. “-She’s just a pâtissière that I admire very much.”

 

Lance caught Pidge’s eyes over Hunk’s broad form, drawing a heart with two fingers as Pidge mimicked shooting an arrow straight for it. They bent over in silent laughter. 

 

Suddenly, a bang went off right in front of his face.  Lance unconsciously gulped. Hunk had slammed both palms down the dinghy PVC table and was looking at him with interest, which meant he was going to ask something Lance had no answer to.

 

“So, what are you going to do about the competition?”

 

For a second, his mind went disconnected. He squinted at Hunk in befuddlement until it clicked. 

 

The competition. 

 

“I don’t know.” He threw himself back onto the table again and wailed. “I have no idea, Hunk. Allura Altea. Here. At A3. A once in a lifetime chance to see her in person, a perfect opportunity to impress her.”

 

“Maybe a tutor?”

 

“Who?” Lance fake-wiped a tear. 

 

“Iverson?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Faster than an ambler gambler, he sobered up to huff out in disbelief. “Iverson hates my guts. He said -what did he say again - ah, right. He said and I quote “You're here right now just because our supreme lord of obnoxious walking fashion disaster student dropped out. So know your place and awe me with your excellent presence." 

 

"Are you sure he hates you when you phrase it like that? And you missed annoying." Hunk pointed out.

 

"You mean annoyingly pretty no one can stand too long in the light of my awesomeness?" 

 

“Urgh.” Pidge groaned audibly, one part tired and nine parts exasperated. “Go the fuck away Lance.”

 

No one could really tell whether a request from Pidge was genuine or not, who was well-versed in the art of resting bitch face. But Lance could and prided himself on that gift. Right now, Pidge was asking them nicely to take a powder. So he did just that, grabbing his bag, hauling Hunk to his feet and giving Pidge back her stress-filled peace.

 

“Good luck studying without the guiding light that is me.” Lance walked backwards, saluting with too much mirth, and laughed in mock hurt when Pidge flipped him off without lifting her gaze from the computer. 

 

He was almost at the exit when Pidge indirectly insulted him, and gave him the best idea ever. 

 

“Unicellular algae, not knowing he has more than one teacher.”

 

* * *

 

“Remind me again why are we in the administration building?” Hunk creeped along the wall, hunching and hands placed firmly on the smooth surface. It seemed more like the floor was lava and Hunk was treading on a path assembled from wet toilet paper than the completely normal, fancy, sturdy, polished marble flooring. “Oh man I don't want to see professor Montgomery. She gave me a dress-down this morning because I accidentally handed her the papers with one hand! What if she sees me here and skins me alive and feeds me to her piranha!?"

 

“Hunk, buddy, calm.” Lance wrecked his mind for baking imagery. “Nice, fluffy piranha-shaped marshmallow.”

 

That earned him a disgusted look from Hunk. The ‘You’re very welcome’ sat on the tip of his tongue, about to be launched in the most innocent tone Lance could muster when someone in dark gray sweatshirt flitted around the corner of his eyes. There was only one person in this entire school could rock that outdated outfit and still looked like he walked straight out of a fashion photoshoot the Really, Lance knew only one person who could sport 

 

Shiro just got up the stairs and was heading for his and Hedrick’s shared office, books laden his arms. 

 

“Shiro!” Lance called and waved, tugging Hunk along.

 

Shiro briefly stared at him in incomprehension before his face broke into a gentle welcoming smile. 

 

“Hey Lance, how is it going for you at Advanced classes?”

 

_ Of all the things Shiro could have asked.  _ “It’s nice enough?” Lance didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He was still iffy about Iverson, but the materials were what he had always dreamt about, direct energy anatomization and manipulation. 

 

Shiro merely chuckled and flicked his glasses down from the top of his head to let them rest on the bridge of his nose. He shifted the heavy pile in his arms a little. Lance caught sight of a nice sketch of some sort of flower between the pages of the flora directory Shiro was holding. 

 

This man could draw too? Just how talented could a person be? Lance was having a hard enough time as it was, crawling his way to the middle ground of advanced class lest he got booted out in the selection period every three months, part-timing, and maintaining a relatively healthy schedule. And apparently Shiro just breezed through Advanced in two years instead of the normal, sanity-ensured four years, earned his masters in Medicine and Medical Alchemy right after, and right now was teaching a few classes on his own in addition to his good look and just-now-discovered artistic ability. 

 

Lance was seriously jealous of Shiro and admired him at the same time. 

 

“Iverson isn’t really known for his understanding.” Shiro half-smiled sympathetically and Lance instantly felt better. If the Shiro must comment on Iverson’s bad one-of-a-kind method, then Lance had every reason to be proud of himself for surviving. “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”

 

That reminded Lance the reasons why he came to the hardly-frequented teachers’ hall in the first place. 

 

“Right. So you know about the thing with Lady Allura Altea coming to A3 in November?”

 

“Of course. That’s all I’ve been hearing about ever since morning.” Shiro slightly smiled. 

 

Lance wanted to smack himself. Of course Shiro had to know about this. He asked the dumbest question he could possibly ask. No more beating around the bush.

 

“Can you give me extra tutoring to prepare for the competition?” Lance got straight to the point, determined. Hope bubbled in his chest; if Shiro agreed to give him off-hour tutelage, the selection would be duck soup! A spot among the escorts for Lady Allura would be his to saunter into.

 

An apologetic dip that Shiro’s amiable smile gained was answer enough. Lance hurriedly affixed his smile in place with something as adhesive as gum on jeans even though his heart had broken free of its blood vessels and taken a crash-dive straight for his stomach. 

 

“I’m sorry, Lance. Staff members are not permitted to assist students with the competition,” Shiro responded. 

 

“Right, of course not.” Lance laughed, awkwardly masking his disappointment as he shifted from foot to foot in discomfort. “Favoritism is not good and all that jazz.”

 

Shiro didn’t say anything, just continued looking at him with that helpless look that almost strayed to pity. 

 

It was time Lance high-tailed out of here.

 

“Right. We’ll leave you to your work. It’s nice seeing you Shiro. Hunk, c’mon, we’re gonna be late for class.”

 

Without waiting for Shiro’s answer, Lance turned on his heels and casually walked away, even putting his hands into his pockets for good measure of relaxed and carefree. Looks like he needed to find help on his own. This was a good try. Even though unsuccessful, at least now he wouldn't have any regrets had he not tried to ask Shiro in the first place.

 

Hunk caught up to him and kept pace with him. They didn’t say anything. 

 

They almost rounded the corner when Shiro called, his voice reverberating along the deserted marbled corridor.

 

"I know just someone who can help, Lance.”

 

Lance should have noticed the proud beam of a cat figuring out the hidden stash of Whiskas that had overtaken Shiro’s face, or the way his eyes twinkle madly, a reminiscence of Pidge’s own devilish one. But he was too busy thanking his luck.

 

He would be the only one from Advanced class to get to meet Allura Altea in person and prove to them he had every right to be there in that class and not just pure luck

 

* * *

 

Apparently Shiro’s apartment was the one Lance had been eyeing for since day one. Situated just around the corner of the university, closed to everything possible and had just enough activity to keep life vibrant, his apartment just made Lance’s shared one with Hunk seemed like it was in the boondocks even though he just needed to bike for fifteen minutes to get to town. 

 

His only consoling thought was the bakery on the first floor of the complex. Knowing him, he would overdose himself on carbs whenever he got stress from classes, which happened far more than he liked. And the small lake just right across the woods provided a better stress-reliever anyway. Or that just what Lance liked to tell himself. 

 

“Mind your step. The paneling is lifting off of the base.” Shiro cautioned, taking two steps to go over the broken step.

 

Lance emulated the action. 

 

Shiro took him up two flights of tightly helical, narrow stairs and stopped on the third floor. He twisted the doorknob first for some reasons before fiddling with his keys and opened the door. He beckoned for Lance to go in first so he did, taking the shoes off before stepping onto the raised wood-panelling floor. While Shiro busied himself with the door and shoes, Lance gave the flat a look-see. Compared to the dark, windowless stairways, the flat was lit up nicely with a glass door leading to a small porch. The kitchen counter was spotless. And a the other end, two doors led to what Lance guessed two separate bedrooms. The sofa told a different story of Shiro's flatmate; a light grey blanket crumpled  together on one end, laptop and wires rolled together carelessly. Everything was seemingly mixed together and hoped for the best. 

 

"You can sit wherever you like, Lance. It might be awhile before he comes home. Tea? Coffee?"

 

"Ah, I'm good, water will be fine," Lance replied, taking a seat at the dining table. The sofa looked more comfortable but Lance had a feeling of trespassing if he chose to sit there. It just screamed a safe haven, a sanctuary to him. “‘He’ as in my tutor?”

 

“Yes. He should probably be home in half an hour or so.” Shiro placed a cup of water in front of him and sat down himself on the opposite. 

 

Lance nodded in thanks and took a sip, not really knowing what to do. When Shiro immediately leant over his chair to grab his laptop, Lance took it as his cue to take out his own phone and window-shopped. There were a lot of sales going on this month, stores clearing up stocks to make way for new Altea-, phoenix-, alchemy-inspired collections and subsequently hyping people up, Lance not excluded. He was on page nine of an outlet store and this close to check out and spend three months worth of grocery money when the doorknob jangled once. Lance stuffed his phone away, straightened his back, and plastered on a genial, teacher-charming smile, ready to meet his tutor and give the best first impression in the recorded history of first impressions. Who was this man? How good was he? An A3 alumni? Or maybe even a researcher at Altea R&D! Lance could barely reign in his excitement. A frission of worry rippled underneath his skin. Lance shivered it away and focused on the smile he had carved onto his face. Worry was valid but right now, worry wouldn’t let him score a point with his would-be tutor, his ticket dealer to the front row seat of recognition, a brain to pick and a connection to a professional alche-

 

In stepped Keith, head hung and hand holding the scythe with blade as curved as Lance was not straight, which was to say it was as curved as a crescent moon, if the moon could kill. 

 

"Ah Keith, you're home. Lance, this is a tutor I told you about." Shiro beamed at him before turning around to face Keith, who looked up at the sound of his name and was now mirroring Lance's own gaping fish expression. "Keith, meet Lance, your teaching responsibility for the next two months."

 

The scythe fell to the floor with a loud clang. 

 

Lance could taste a lemon in his mouth when he raised his hand to wave the most awkward greeting ever.

 

"Hi." 


	5. Keith

Keith had no idea what to expect when he came back to the apartment, Shiro making a mess in the living room with papers and work related documents, highly plausible; Shiro dead to the world on the dining table with a cup of coffee nearby, even more plausible; Shiro not home, could happen but highly unlikely, Shiro home but too engrossed in work to notice the passage of time and when Keith got home, he had practically forgotten to have lunch and now dinner.

 

And it fell into his responsibility to make sure both of them have food at a reasonable enough time. Luckily, they still had quiches so that was one problem solved. Sometimes Keith felt like he was the responsible one of the household instead of Shiro. 

 

The door handle gave way easily when Keith gave it an push. Keith entered, eyes not leaving   the unbelievable knots his shoe laces had gotten themselves into and partially since he was not ready to figure out the mess Shiro had gotten himself into. 

 

Keith did not expected a guest, and a specific one at that. Nor did he expect Shiro to greet him with that damn smile that only meant he did something with Keith's own good in mind but in reality, he was just throwing unexpected things at Keith and created more mess for Keith to figure out the start and end without damaging anything. 

 

:What the fuck: Keith didn't even need to look at the phone, his fingers having memorizes all the places of every letter for that particular arrangement down pat after some umpteenth times he had to make it. He glared at Shiro from under his bangs. 

 

Lance said something but Keith's attention was solely on Shiro, ready to incinerate him so Keith didn’t have to experience the backlash of any of his dumb ideas again.

 

Shiro’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t bother to pull it out and got ready to answer out loud. Keith rapped his knuckles against his own phone repeatedly. Shiro complied with a put upon sigh. 

 

:Lance asked for a tutor to prepare for the event. I volunteered you:

 

:I decline.:

 

:ok:

 

Keith drew back. _ OK? _ Keith had to reread the text again just to be sure. That was definitely letter O right in front of letter K to form a dubious agreement unfit for Shiro's meddlesome. Just like that? 

 

:what do you mean by “ok”?: Keith replied, doubt and paranoia dripping into existence.

 

Shiro placed his phone, screen down, on the table. He then fully turned around to face Lance. 

 

"I'm sorry Lance. I should have asked Keith's opinions first before giving you false hope," Shiro inclined his head in an apology. 

  
Knocked out of his transfix on something on the floor just next to Keith's feet, Lance took waved his hands frenziedly in front of himself.   


  
"No no, it's fine really." Lance laughed, a strained sound that reeked of disappointment and worry. "I shouldn't have asked in the first place and robbed you into my problem."   


  
Keith moved before he was even conscious that he had moved, dirty shoes leaving trails of moist dust on light wood. He slammed his hands on the table. Lance jumped but Shiro merely glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, in deep thought and inability to help. The more he balked at Shiro, the deeper he experienced second-hand guilt. Again in less than the span of five minutes, his body moved before his brain caught up.   


  
"'Meet me at the woods out of town tmr 7am sharp.'" Lance read the text Keith just shoved in his face out loud and immediately protested. "7am! Are you crazy?"   


  
"'If you want me to tutor you, then we'll do it my way. Clear?'" Once again, Lance vocalized his text.    


  
Then Keith marched straight for his room, shoes and all, and slammed the door behind him. He needed sleep. This evening was too crazy to be awake for.    


* * *

  
The woods out of town, as with many trees disseminated across city center, had donned a speckle of reds and yellows among their greens. Autumn was fading in, one firm step at a time, a soft hymn.   


  
Keith pressed the brake. The motorbike slowed down just enough so chilly wind stopped edging its way inside his jacket, which was mistakenly not zipped to the very end. The exposed skin on his neck stung. A sore throat seemed imminent at this point.    


  
The trail ahead curled left steeply, winding its ribbony body in an elegant twist. Keith cut off the engine completely and let the bike drop freely along the precipitous slope. The once-orphanage was just at the very end it, and so was the entrance the woods.    


  
Out of habit, Keith glanced to his right the moment the ground leveled again, in search for the wooden sign covered in colored hand prints him and all the kids had put up one sunny afternoon. “You’ve made it past Flying Acorns. Come meet us!” the words would have spelt, had the sign was still propped up and not soaked with rain and time after all these years. He drove by the mark without stopping.    


  
No one really traveled this path anymore, save for the owner of the large expanse of ground the orphanage used to reside. Keith flagrantly rode on the middle of the road, enjoying the lawless freedom. There used to be public buses that ran this path, from central station straight for the orphanage and subsequently the wood; this treacherous drop might have been the reason they stopped operating.    


  
The motorbike steadily slowed to a halt. Keith put his feet down to completely stop it just right next to the wooden fence of the farm. Noise and real air rushed in the moment Keith slid the helmet off his head, fresh and welcoming. His hair stuck uncomfortably against the base of his neck and his forehead, expectedly sopped with perspiration. Keith shook his head from side to side to loosen the mat of hair. It had been so long since he had ridden the motorbike he had forgotten how ill-fitted the damn helmet was. A neat looking one but he was as inexperienced as ever when he had randomly picked it up at the store. Brisk autumnal breeze sucked out moisture from his hair and skin quickly, bringing with it a tincture of dry leaves and earth. Keith made a switch from the bulky padded gloves to his usual fitted fingerless one and reveled in the familiarity they brought.    


  
A quick look at his phone told him now was exactly eight am. If Lance would’t show up at one minute past eight, the tutelage thing was off and Keith would be more than happy to see the end of it. He set the countdown of exactly one minute and stretched his arms comfortably over the gas tank, a happy sigh escaped him. He couldn’t wait for this to end.    


  
14    


  
13   


  
His ears picked up uneven pounding of rubber soles on asphalt amidst the sound of fog and stillness; excessive breathing and huffing disrupted any and all peacefulness of the moment. Keith placed the phone face down on the gas tank as he too pressed his face on the cold metal as well as he waited for the annoyance to reach him.    


  
Lance's panting got louder and louder the closer he got to Keith before it suddenly cut off with a squeak not dissimilar to a choked crow. Keith glared at Lance over his shoulders, taking in his disheveled state and noticeable rise and fall of his chest, and dismounted the bike. He kicked the kickstand out from underneath the bike with more force than necessary; the satisfying click as it snapped into place rang in the empty air. With a jerk of his head to tell Lance to follow him, Keith started making his way for the ingress to the woods across the farmland, not bothering to check if Lance was following or not.   


  
Compared to the disputatious Lance he dimly remembered being in a one-sided conversation with three days ago at City Library, this one was exceptionally quiet. He hadn’t made a single peep, of greetings, of complaints or of jabbing whatsoever. The only noise that let Keith know Lance was still keeping up with him was the uneven echo of leaves crunching under boots and frequent deep exhales. Keith took a deep inhale and continued climbing up along the trail. The sun inched their way up, struggling to perforate through the baking paper of fog. Shards of radiant sunlight filtered through the mesh of marbled poplars, setting the carpet of red leaves ablaze. Evaporating mist stung his mouth and nose. Keith coughed lightly to clear the discomfort away. The top of the hill was close now, Keith could see a smudge of gray of the ancient slab of rock he used to sit for stargazing. It had been so so long since he last set foot in the wood. Eight years, give or take 7 months, just around Shiro's eighteenth birthday. And Keith used to go into the woods everyday, without fails, neither rain nor storm could stop him.    


  
Now, being back here again brought back so much. He remembered where everything was. A drey of a red squirrel family on the fork of the poplar right next to the slab of rock. The spot ten steps north west of the rock where Shiro burned his hair with a failed alchemy circle. A bush of raspberry Matt and Pidge deviously surrounded with poison ivy to stop him from picking lied directly on the right of the Shiro Ground Zero.    


  
Keith remembered everything in that particular zone and all the memory clipped to it.    


  
The sea of flowers he was seeing now was definitely new. Keith stopped dead in his track to gape. What in the name of fresh hell. . .   


  
There were rarely any flowers along the trail. Keith was by no means a botanist but he could bet Shiro's treasured frozen sandwich stash chocolate stash under the sofa in the freezer that the dirt type was the same throughout the entire forest. He spied bush of orange not-rose, crowd of indigo mini not-sunflower with shoots of some purple flower that infelicitously reminded Keith of an elongated toilet brush mixing in. Flowers of every hue covered every inch of the glade, a tapestry of bewilderment sewed with question marks needle, so harmonically unusual Keith could barely trust his eyes. What drew his eyes, however, was a bushy tree standing in a fairy circle. It towered over every of other flowers; leaves so glossy they reflected sunlight and deep pink almost-rose-but-not blooms sprinkled on every branch.    


  
Lance drew up next to him, hands gripped his knees tightly and wheezing. Keith was too shocked by the blooms to give into the urge to smile thinly and challengingly at Lance's horrid physical state.   


  
"Whoa! What is this place?" Lance asked, not as out of breath as he might have sounded had he chosen to speak the moment he completed the trekking, and pulled out his phone to snap pictures.   


  
Keith wanted to snap back with "your nightmarish class" but he too was busy taking panoramas of the area and sending them to Shiro. Maybe Shiro knew something about this abnormality.    


  
Keith slid his phone back inside the pocket and carefully picked his way  over to the slab of rock, slapping Lance's hand away as he tried to pick a blue flower off a vine.   


  
The slab of rock rooted firmly on the ground. No matter how much jumping he did, it wouldn't suddenly unroot and crash all the flowers underneath. Keith pointed at the very tip of the slab and motioned for Lance to sit, who flopped down eagerly with surprisingly no questions. This was unusual. Keith pulled out his phone, typed, and showed it to Lance.   


  
"'Meditate.' Meditate? What do you mean by meditate?' In Lance's particular fashion, he vocalized Keith's text before reacting.   


  
Keith tapped his phone in answer, finally giving in to the urge to smirk at the outrage Lance was throwing at him. Now Keith knew how to react. A complacent and quiet Lance confused him.   


  
Lance growled at him. Keith shrughed, in the manner of take it or leave it before retreating to his favorite spot on the slab of rock, with a large fir as backrest and a naturally formed dent for him to place his pencil without it rolling away. The rock's chill seeped through his jeans, sending refreshing shivers all over his body. He wiggled, sliding up and down and sideways to find the spot.   


  
He was about to put his phone away and started sketching when the screen lit up with a stream of arriving messages from Shiro.    


  
:Anemone:   


  
:Hyacinth:   


  
:Lilly of the valley:   


  
:Begonia:   


  
Keith hurriedly jumped in.   


  
:fucking text in one message please!:   


  
The three dots thankfully didn't mushroom into another text with flower name. They stayed that way for quite a while, so long that Keith had to ask.   


  
:how do you know all these?:   


  
The wall of text that Shiro sent him was, what Keith guessed, the name of all the flowers.   


  
:Rhododendron, rainflower, baby’s breath, crocus, myrtle, violet, oleander, zinnia, juniper, forsythia, heather, geranium, everlasting, golden rod and middle mist. Funny thing, middle mists only exist in Altea's garden, this one seems to be real enough to be stolen from their. Get me a closeup pic.    


  
Keith obeyed and took a blurry picture with max zoom to send back.   


  
His eyes drew to Lance, who was not at all losing himself in the surrounding to feel the energy of Alchemy. He was texting. If Keith listened closely, the tiny clacking of nails on glass screen might as well be a woodpecker drilling straight into his ears. Without preamble, Keith rose from his spot and walked over to Lance to pluck his phone straight out of his hands. Lance jumped before squawking in objection, glares heated as a pissed off bread, which was to say not at all. Keith mouthed the word “Meditate” meticulously and retreated back, turning deaf ears on the griping. With someone else’s phone in hand, Keith automatically entered his phone number, gave himself a call to see the number and saved it, all done within 30 seconds. Then he settled down to finally enjoy nature and be.    


  
The moment was short-lived.    


  
Lance’s grumble mixed in with the rustling and occasional birds chirping like orange juice and toothpaste/cereal and water/ketchup and pancake. At first, Keith tried to ignore it, turning his focus to the squirrel springing from branch to branch, their brown coat blending in so well with the reddening leaves it gave him something to focus on. Then Lance sighed thunderously and Keith ground his teeth together in response.    


  
This would not work.    


  
Grabbing his backpack off the ground, Keith stormed away, back the way he came from.    


  
“Hey! Where’re you going!” Lance called after him but Keith forged ahead.    


  
He didn’t even know why he gave a shot in the first place.    
  


* * *

Keith slammed both hands on the table when he came home. Shiro merely took stock of paper city scape he had constructed and tiredly pulled out a clear folder from underneath the table and gave it to Keith.    


  
A  quick glance at it told him it was a student file - the swirly almost impossible-to-make-of insignia of A3 regally stamped at the top - Lance's to be exact. Keith glanced sideways at Shiro, who had buried himself back into work again. Knowing he wouldn't get any answers, Keith flipped the file open. He was pretty sure this went against school rule, but well, he couldn't care less.   


  
The first few pages were standard information, there was a motivational letter, some awards, previous schooling certificates, monetary proof and scholarship acceptance and grades. Keith flipped through them all. It was irrelevant and not his to look at. But a passing glance at the grade showed Lance to be a straight A student. He didn't mean to make an appreciative hum. He arrived at the end, where administrators stapled a recommendation letter from Hedrick and Shiro in search for approval to move Lance to Advanced Class, probably to fill Keith's place. Standard praising again. Hard working, fun-loving, loud and rowdy. No, what drew his eyes was this one phrase.    


  
"During the practical session of the  entrance exam, Mr. McClain had shown an aptitude for hand alchemy. He successfully transmuted a wooden sculpture with metal engraving without the need for a porcelain clasp and transmutation circle -"   


  
Keith stared at the paragraph, rereading again just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He looked at Shiro, who nodded gravelly in confirmation.    


  
Ideas and possibilities swirled in head so badly the world churned together too. Keith pulled out a chair and flopped down, puzzle pieces coming together in his head, two pieces that should go together but didn't fit each other. Hand alchemy was a heredity few possessed. It existed solely in a family of the same bloodlines, the Alteas and Marmoras were the two most prominent lineages. There were others too, but they were small and so far and few in between to be made known.    


  
All the puzzles were there except for two. Keith readied the scissors to chip the corners away. It had to fit.    


  
Families with aptitude for hand alchemy were said to have deep connection with the Earth's energy.   


  
He couldn't do alchemy. He couldn't feel the energy. He reasoned it had something to do with his energy.   


  
Alteas and Marmoras stayed out of the equations. He couldn't just march in and demand a talk to speak about his unimportant matter.   


  
But the McClains. . . If he could get closer to Lance, then-   


  
The pieces had finally fallen into place.    


  
:You planned this: Keith pushed his phone with the text across the table to Shiro. He couln't believe Shiro had given him a lead to follow to his problem, or maybe even his past.   


  
Shiro shrugged in response, a confirmation clear as day.    


  
Keith lifted the corner of his mouth into a thin smile. Had Shiro told him up front, Keith would have made an effort to hold his frustration in check. As things had gone, he had, unfortunately, foiled his chance of getting an answer and put Shiro’s effort to waste.    


  
“You know you can say sorry.” Shiro mumbled, not looking up from the paper he was reading.   


  
:For what: Keith slid his phone under Shiro’s nose again. He had nothing to be sorry for. He just couldn’t teach Lance, end of story. They were merely not on the same wavelengths. Lance had better chance learning from others than from him.     


  
This time, Shiro did put his pen down and look at him. With the reading glasses sliding almost to the tip of his nose, the deadpan look he put on could rival Pidge’s authenticity.    


  
“For not actually teaching.”   


  
Keith frowned. He did teach! Everyone knew proficiency in Alchemy started with understanding the energy that fueled alchemy itself and meditation was the modus operandi to start to unravel the energy.    


  
“Not by telling Lance to meditate without explaining to him.” Shiro took off his glasses and shone them on the lights. Then,     
as persnickety as a restorer repainting a ceramic arabesques with rigger brush, he wiped the glasses with the provided glass wipe, deliberate slow circular motion. "Not everyone understands Alchemy as you do. They are taught to think logically, scientifically, to break things down into their basic formation and rearrange them into their creation. Energy is a given, like air, no one really explains how air works, except for you breathe air to live and no air means you're dead."   


  
:Your point being?:   


  
"Apologize and try again."    


  
Keith glared down at the phone screen, refusing to look at Shiro. He wasn't the only one in the wrong!   


  
"Lance is the only one I've ever met that can do hand alchemy." Shiro tacked on ruefully.   


  
With a tsk as the final opposition, Keith found Lance in the contact list and messaged him.    


  
:Meet me in the woods 8am sharp tmr. Don’t be late.:   


  
Shiro leant across the table to look at the text and tched disapprovingly. Keith swiped his phone up from the table and turned his back to Shiro.    


  
“Your apologizing skill is atrocious.”   


  
Keith showed Shiro his answer. :Who said anything about apologizing?:   


  
Shiro kept on tsk-ing, until Keith was annoyed enough to text another message to Lance   


  
:Today went wrong:   


  
The tsk tsk hadn't ceased, so Keith tacked on even though his fingers cramped up badly to type in the five letter word.    


  
:Sorry:   


  
"See, it wasn't that hard, was it?" Shiro sat back down on his chair again, picking up the pen to resume his work.    
  
Keith chucked his balled up socks at Shiro. The absolute disgust as Shiro pinched the articles up from his papers and tossed them to the shoes rack soothed Keith's bad mood a little bit. 


	6. Lance

Lance breathed in deeply and sighed happily. He tried not to show it but frankly, Keith's stupid study place was a good decision, if he was willing to overlook the distance between it and civilization. Lance dragged his feet on the asphalt, the last post of working human construction was the bus stop sign, not even a bench, just a steel pool and a sign welded on top 25 minute walk away. He had to sit on the bus for more than 45 minutes and then walked the rest of the way to the woods. The way to it was fine, downhill and all. The uphill was torturous.    


  
Lance had half expected to see Keith leaning his jealousy-inducing body over the front of the bike and glare at him with those burning eyes, the outrageously stupid mullet unfairly adding to Keith's overall prettiness. Lance's heart danced to all pretty things out there. It clip-clopping at the sight of Keith's beauty should have surprised Lance more but as it was, he had gaped like a fish and accepted that yes, Keith was pretty and Lance might have developed a liking for all pretty things and people out there. appreciated all when he reached leveled ground   


  
Keith wasn't there to glare-greet him but his bike was parked there so Lance hazarded he might be hanging around in the glade aka impromptu classroom already. Lance meandered closer to have a look at the bike. That was another thing. Lance had expected Keith to show up in on a bicycle or even on rollerblades, rocking that 80s vibes. But no, he had to arrive on a hot-ass red white motorbike, in full black leather outfit and a look so handsomely wild it sucked out all of Lance’s grievance and complaint and filled the cavity with awe and envy. The coat of paint gleamed in early morning light, effortlessly camouflaging thin scratches along the sides. The rear mirrors, protective glasses and front lights were polished to reflective quality.    


  
“Mullet must have taken really good care,” Lance mumbled out loud to himself, going around to give it one final good look before continuing his way to the glade.    


* * *

The trail made it easy to reach his destination.    


  
As he had expected, Keith was already there, sketching; but he turned around when Lance rounded the corner, alert like a panther watching his prey. Though he masked it well, Lance could see the surprise hidden underneath.    


  
Well, frankly, Lance was surprised at himself that he showed up today as well after yesterday’s snafu where Keith just stormed off and left him sitting there. Alone. In an unfamiliar wood. Without so much as a by your leave.    


  
God, why was he here again today?   


  
Keith extended a fashion disaster fingerless-gloved hand when Lance struggled to climb up the rock instead of going around. Lance looked at the limb and dumped the cloth bag slung across his shoulders into Keith’s hand as he pushed himself up. He could climb on on his own without needing any assistance.    


  
“It’s yours,” Lance said, brushing off dirt on his knees when Keith gave him the bag back.   


  
Keith frowned in confusion, tilting his head a little to the side, bangs sliding all over his eyes. Lance fought tooth and nail to keep his thought solely on the irritation of having to explain rather than straying to the little lying thoughts that kept on screaming about how cute Keith was.    


  
“Apology treat.” Lance cleared his throat as Keith took out the blue box and peeked inside. “My sister made them so you’d better enjoy them.”    


  
Keith just kept on being attractively bewildered. For someone who conversated solely via text, he was far more expressive than, say Pidge/could do just fine with his expressions alone.     


  
“Look, we were both-“ Lance cut himself off, looked at the sky and closed his eyes before breathing out. “-wrong.”    


  
Veronica should be very very proud of him. He admitted that he was wrong, he looked at Keith in the face when he admitted it, and then he gave Keith the sweets, just as she had directed.     


  
“But frankly, you were more rude than I was.” He forged on, still looking at the sky. “What kind of tutor upped and left his student? Maybe it’s the mullet. Mullet makes you unpleasantly rude.”   


  
Lance peeked down at Keith, who had already had his phone up with a long suffering scowl, waiting for him to read.    


  
"Like hell I'm leaving your hair out of this. 'I have my reasons’?What other reasons than the fact that you walk straight out of the 80s and don’t know the concept of reasonable hairstyle?" Lance griped, pushing his own bangs back in frustration. Does this guy have any concept of neatness and eye-pleasing look?   


  
Keith crossed his hands at the wrists in a stop gesture and started typing, fingers zipping across the phone screen. Lance complied with a huff, readying to counter any arguments Keith might come up with.   


  
:I have my reasons: Keith repeated. Then he switched to a different topic. :Can we start with the lesson?:   


  
Now, Lance wasn’t as inexperienced in reading situations as his sister might believe. He knew enough to know that any more well thought-out and searing comments on the mullet would just be cold-shouldered, which would be such a waste of the assemblage of comebacks he had prepared. So Lance readily went along, only because he also had a bone to pick with Keith on this particular topic.    


  
“What lesson? I didn’t see you having any ‘lesson’ yesterday.”    


  
Keith glared up at him from under his bangs, biting lips hard enough to make Lance’s own twinged in visceral pain. He looked ready to punch something, a particular something that had Lance’s features.    


  
:Can you stop and listen for one minute?:   


  
“Allright. One minute. So what's the curriculum today, teacher?" Lance crossed his arms over his chest, patting himself on his back as Keith squeezed his eyes shut/scrunched his eyebrows together and stuck his tongue out in clear disgust at the title Lance gave him.    


  
:No: Keith turned his phone sideways and zoomed in so the word filled out the entire screen. A red bold No.    


  
"As you say.” Lance shrugged. He wasn't really that comfortable referring to Keith as anything but Keith. But still, he wanted to try one last time/that doesn't stop him from saying one last time. “Teacher"    


  
Keith cringed on himself like the leaflets of a shame plant, rubbing his arms repeatedly and hopping on the spot. He had no idea why Keith was so averse to being addressed as teacher, but he looked so damn ridiculous right now that Lance couldn’t help the short laugh that sputtered out of his mouth. Keith stopped jumping and scowled at him but the upwards curve of his mouth ruined the effect. The sniggers kept escaping Lance even as Keith had went back to the phone to type something.    


  
:You can do clap alchemy, correct?:    


  
“Yeah. Only once though.” Lance agreed readily. News traveled well enough for Mullet to catch up with it seemed.   


  
He remembered that time well enough. He had been at wit’s end. He got acceptable grade for the general entrance exam but barely scraped a passing percentage for Alchemy theoretical. The last shot to get into A3’s alchemy courses lay solely on the practical exam which, considering how shaky his hold of the chalk were, he might as well have flunked it. And then, by some divine miracle and desperate desire to be an Alchemist in-training at A3, when it was his turn, Lance threw the chalk aside and clapped his hands together. His memory was hazy about things that happened next but he distantly remembered a feeling of warmth and pride as the overseers dropped their coffee cup in muted surprise at the filigreed wooden lantern he transmuted from the offered slab of wood.    


  
Keith nodded curtly in response and showed Lance his screen with a wall of text, dropping it into his hand so suddenly the phone almost toppled out of his hold. Keith's chin-jerk was indicator enough that he wanted Lance to read the monologue he had written.    


  
:Alchemy is made possible by the flow of energy from the tectonic movement of the Earth's crust., but it's more than just that. At its barest, alchemy is molten rock movement that form alchemy power, at its deepest level of connection, it's everything around. You have to understand and connect with that energy to do clap alchemy again. Now go meditate. Clear your head and be.:   


  
Lance finished and looked to Keith, only to find him jabbing his pencil to the tip of the rock.   


  
"Again with this meditation shit," Lance muttered darkly, dragging his feet to the indicated spot before agreeing loudly. "10-4."   


  
He flopped down and took a deep breath, tendrils of mixed sweet floral scents relaxed him slightly.    


  
Clear the head.    


  
He definitely could do that.    


* * *

His thoughts strayed from winter sales suffering to the dream-like meeting with Lady Allura dream meeting with Allura before zapping to dinner and slowly sliding into an argument against itself when tofu was concerned. On one hand, he hadn’t had tofu in a while; on the other hand, tofu was expensive and too good to have any leftovers.    


  
He had almost reached a treat-yourself decision when something small hit him on the back.   


  
Right, he need to clear his head and immerse himself in the energy.    


  
Lance took a deep breath and straightened his back. Energy. . . swirling like water in the toilet  . . . birds chirped somewhere and leaves rattled in the wind. What exactly was he supposed to sense? There was absolutely nothing to feel.    


  
Another loose rock hit his back. Lance rolled his shoulders in annoyance but didn’t move.    


  
The third one landed right on top of his head and he lost it.    


  
“What?” Lance twisted around, teeth grinding together. He was doing exactly what Keith told him to do!   


  
Keith, either didn’t care or couldn’t bring himself to care, tapped his phone. Lance grumbled and pulled his out from inside the pocket, left silent to avoid disrupting his quest for feeling energy. There was a new message from Keith.   


  
_Take a break,_ it read.    


  
He looked at Keith with suspicion. Again, either he had bad eyesight or too inept at reading emotions, Keith merely tilted his head to the spot next to himself and went back to drawing.    


  
Lance strode over and plopped himself down, mirroring Keith’s pose as he leant his back against the ancient tree trunk. Rough bark poked him the wrong way. Lance wiggled around to find a less jacket-damaging spot.    


  
"I was meditating."   


  
:No, you weren't. You were thinking about meditating. Take ten: Keith wrote on a corner of his sketch pad and turned it just enough for Lance to read but not look at whatever Keith had been drawing.     


  
Lance harrumphed but didn't say anything else, content with his phone. Keith, too, went back to doing his own things, sketching the scenery if his constant glancing at the far trees was any indicators. Each pen strokes scratched against the paper in a pleasant tune, spiking Lance’s curiosity about the enigmatic Keith even more. Top of Advanced Class but drop-out due to disciplinary problems. Loner but never joined any groups or clubs. So mysterious that stories and gossips flew wild whenever Keith was mentioned in group chats. No one really knew who Keith Kogane was and no one dared to get close to him to probe, fear of the silent stare that could froze the sun. Lance, however, thrived in the cold.    


  
He took the plunge with a rolled up grocery bill in the pants pocket and a pen.    


  
:Why don’t you talk?: Lance wrote and placed the piece of paper on top of the sketchbook.    


  
The pleasant sketching stopped. Lance resolutely kept his eyes on some spot 45 degrees to his left, stuffing his hands into the pockets to keep them from fidgeting. Thinking back, he could have asked something else less personal and potentially painful. That came out nosy. He was usually more subtle and tactful than this. Hunk was rubbing off of him.   


  
Just as he thought Keith wasn’t going reply and was about to resign to his fate of not having a tutor again, the crinkled receipt was slid towards him and the scratching resumed, albeit less sedate and more frantic.    


  
:Traumatic event:    


  
Two words. Just two words, scrawled in a surprising round handwriting and wide space, told him more about Keith than any of his answers ever would. Closed off, adaptable and alone. Guilt twisted his guts and clamped down on his lower lips. He shouldn't have asked. Lance flitted a look to the side. Keith was unnaturally focused on his drawing, the grip he had around the pencil tighter than before.    


  
An "I see" was as awkward as walking into the wrong class. He could stop the conversation now by not replying or he could change the subject but he had nothing to talk about. But Keith-   


  
Keith had replied to his over the top insensitive question. Lance got Keith to talk, he might as well forge on.    


  
:Don’t you know sign language?: Lance placed the paper tentatively on Keith's sketch, hoping Keith wouldn't get pissed enough to up and cancel all tutelage deal for good this time.   


  
The answer came PDQ.   


  
:No reasons to. I don't have friends. Don’t talk much, either.:    


  
That was the thing with written conversation. Lance could never tell emotions from it to react accordingly. He stared hard at Keith, who had resumed his programmed glance at the surrounding once every half minute and whose hold on the pencil had gotten more relaxed.    


  
Lance reread the text. It seemed like Keith was talking about how nice the weather was rather than his dreary dearth of friends. Lance considered himself a socializer with bundles of acquaintances and a handful of good friends; he flitted from corners to corners at parties charming ladies and checking out others. Social interactions were his go-to pick-me-up, a replenishment after draining hours in class.    


  
Keith must had at least another confidant other than Shiro - the fact that they were siblings still rocked Lance's world but he could see the resemblance in their alchemical prowess - or it must be a very lonely existence.    


  
. . . Did he?   


  
Lance clicked his pen at light's speed, thinking up a not-attacking response. His eyes roamed around the space for ideas before landed on the half-lidded box of mochi Veronica prepared made, which should be emptied by Keith and not merely five-sixths finished! Veronica’s baking was to be devoured with gusto and gratitude and whatnot!   


  
“Why haven’t you finished the mochis?” Lance accused, discarding writing to express his disapproval more acute.    


  
:Not a sweets person: Keith wrote on his sketchbook :Tell your sister I said thanks.:   


  
"If you want to thank her, eat them all."   


  
Keith tapped the butt of his pen on the text.    


  
“Yeah I know.” Lance slipped the lid properly in place and retied the ribbon in a bow. “Just bring them home for Shiro. She will scream at me if she sees me bringing this back.”   


  
Keith tipped his head in assent and pointed his pen first at Lance, then at the spot he had been meditating, a command clear as day.    


  
“Break’s over.” Lance sighed, heaving himself to a stand and treaded to the place.    


  
As he closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts as best as he could, the wind seemed to have a shape to them rather than just speedy air. 


	7. Keith

Keith reached home a little over nine to find Matt pass out mummy-style on the sofa with arms crossed over his chest, the useless table calendar covering his face. If it hadn’t been for the rise and fall of his chest, Keith had every reason to hail a funerary service. One glance at Shiro, up and productively typing away on his computer left Keith with no remorse as he flung his backpack onto the Matt-occupied sofa before taking a seat opposite of Shiro.    


  
Matt jerked awake with an ‘oomph’, the calendar clattering to the ground. Shiro heaved a put upon sigh.    


  
“I want to be wake up by a maid, Keith.” Matt ambled to their place, yawning so widely his words came out all distorted. Luckily, Keith was fluent in Holt yawn language.   


  
:Where’s Pidge?: Keith pushed his phone forward.    


  
“At school. Probably sleeping as well.”   


  
“Do you two ever sleep at home?” Shiro chimed in, disapproval soaking every syllable.    


  
"Sleep is relative, a social construct of human beings. Our brain is never asleep, therefore, neither do we.” Matt raised one finger and announced sagely. “We pass out."    


  
:You sound like Pidge:   


  
"I'm Pidge 1.0; Pidge is Pidge 2.0.” Matt nodded vigorously.    


  
"Nothing you say makes sense anymore." Shiro shook his head.    


  
"Do we really make sense? I mean we make sense to us but do we make sense to a spider-”   


  
Keith hastily lifted the lid off the box of mochi as Shiro raised his voice to drown out Matt’s onslaught of life-questioning hypothesis. “So Keith, how did it go?”   


  
Just as planned, Matt made an excited noise as he dove for the sweet treats and forgot all about whatever he was going to say.    


  
Keith shrugged in response to Shiro’s question, averting his eyes to not look at Shiro’s Cheshire I-told-you-so grin.    


  
“Sweets for breakfast!” Matt’s excited exclaim drew Shiro’s attention away from Keith. “This is so good! Where’s the shop?” Matt asked around a mouth full of flour-covered pounded-rice cake.    


  
Keith gnawed on his lips, fingers hovering over the keyboard, not sure what to answer. If he said at a shop somewhere, Matt would bug him until he let slip the address, then Matt would know that he bullshitted in the first place. Then he would have to tell the truth and Shiro would bug him until he did something nice in exchange for Lance. The second scenario was just Chrome to the first scenario Internet Explorer as in it took him straight to the rock-ribbed Shiro. Mind made up, Keith was about to type in his answer when Shiro cut in, eyeing the inside of the mochi after a bite.    


  
“You hate beans, don’t you?   


  
“Yeah he does,” Matt answered for him, plucking another from the box.    


  
Keith placed his phone face down on the table and crossed his arms across his chest petulantly. He never asked Lance to bring him any apology treats.   


  
“I’m so ashamed I have you as my brother.” Shiro covered his face with both hands and bemoaned. “I fail as a role model of social interaction for you.”   


  
Keith’s ears heated up, but he would not yield. This time was definitely not his doing.    


  
“I’m speechless, Keith. So, so speechless.” Shiro whinged on, lowering his head to rest on his crossed arms.    


  
He kept on mumbling but it was so muffled Keith could hardly make out a proper words so he politely ignored his dramatic brother and turned to Matt, who was leaning against the fridge and watched the scene unfold with bemused smile.   


  
:What's the exam to choose Altea's tagalong?: Keith showed the text to Matt.    


  
“Just like entrance exam I think.” Matt tapped a finger against his chin. “A theoretical section and a practical show. Shiro’ll be one of the judges for the written section. Lady Allura will pick the best five and oversee the practical.”   


  
Matt deliberately left out his role in this. Keith tapped on the table, four taps, pause, then five taps — the letter U — then jerked his head at Matt.    


  
Shiro mumbled something. Keith aimed a kick under the table. Shiro needed to be more helpful.    


  
“Shiro, if you say I’m an arranger because, unlike animals, I color-code, I’m gonna-“ Matt didn’t manage to finish his threat as Shiro lifted his face up with a grunt and talked right over him.    


  
“A manager because his notes are more rainbow-y than even a rainbow.”   


  
Keith hummed in acknowledgement as Matt drew Shiro into a friendly banter of color-coding merit.    


  
Their arguments had always been like this, methodological and steeped in several years of Public Forum debating competition, a summary point followed by several supporting bullet points.    


  
"Economically speaking, Matt, you save ten bucks for every pack of five you buy and that's ten more going into your going to maid cafe bucket list."   


  
Keith never said their arguments were logical or reality sensible. Their very first one, however, was the epitome of debate art, sparked by the arrival of an entourage of A3 staff as their annual volunteer program, a heated talk about alchemy circle. The Holts had come with Matt and went back home with Shiro and Keith/had added Shiro and Keith to their family on all but papers.   


  
Keith was grateful for it. But he never felt like he truly belonged. Always, always, a glass pane partitioned him from everyone else.    


  
Every family moment, he was there.    


  
Every joke, he laughed along.    


  
Every dinner, he occupied a seat at the table, always on the outside and next to Shiro, and listened to Mr. Holt’s upbeat  recount of his day.    


  
Every down time, he resonated with the hurts; Pidge’s alienation at school, Matt’s job rejection, Shiro’s aimlessness with his future, Mrs. Holt’s broken arm, Mr. Holt’s draining work life.     
  
Every time, he reached out, wanting to shoulder their burden-   


  
-Only to find his hand suspended in midair, unable to get past. He looked for an imperfection - hairline crack, a needle-tip perforation, anything.    


  
Nothing.    


  
Nothing but a thread, so thin and white that he thought he hallucinated its existence. A thread Shiro was laboriously keeping alive. Keith took it. Vibration of laughter and talking reechoed in him. He held tight. Even if it was just a visceral sense of belonging, he wanted to have it.    


  
Shiro’s non-stop finger-snapping pulled him out of his wandering thoughts. Keith feigned attention to the conversation at hand, or the lack thereof. Shiro frowned in skepticism.    


  
“C’mon Shiro,” Matt called from the door, shoed and jacketed. “I still need to sort out Miss Altea’s security entourage.”   


  
“On my way.” Shiro replied and walked away, not forgetting to give Keith a we’ll-talk-later look.    


  
Keith glared dourly but resigned to his fate and moved to the sofa for a nap. He needed strength to deal with Shiro later.    
  


* * *

  
Keith groggily came back to the wakefulness with his phone vibrating on the table and a bad neck crick   


  
:Alchemy, A Theorem, chapter 17, energy comes from tectonic movement of the Earth’s crust and magma, correct?: the message glared at him from too bright screen.    


  
Without pause, Keith swiped left to answer — : _ Yes: _ — then put  his phone in silent and went back to sleep. The incompleteness of the statement, however, bugged him like a mysterious line on the canvas; no matter which layer he clicked, he couldn’t find it and clear it out.    


  
Keith flung himself up and started typing.    


  
:That's the scientific way of looking at it, there’s more. Horneva Altea described in her book of a sixth element and obscure energy of human's mind and nature-:   


  
Another text arrived before Keith finished. Belatedly, Keith realized he had been texting with Lance.    


  
:4 conducts of alchemy 1763.:   


  
Without considering his action, Keith deleted the entire text and typed in the answer to that.    


  
:3 in 1764. Not be used for war; not be performed on sentient life forms; and not be disrespected.: The conducts were ingrained in his every fibre, words by words. There existed many more and updated version, specifically with the rise of Medical Alchemy that Allura Altea spearheaded 20 years ago but the one implemented in the 18th century remained the paradigm.    


  
Keith hit send before his brain caught up to him.    


  
:Are you fucking having a quiz and using me to cheat?: he hurriedly sent a text, affronted.    


  
:No: Lance’s denial came too quickly to be truthful.    


  
There was a patch of radio-silence, in which Keith assumed Lance got caught and suspended from school; therefore renouncing his right to participate in the competition and, the sweet result, saving Keith from torturous tutoring. But no, he had never been lucky.   


  
Lance's next text came with an emoji, as if Keith couldn't discern his relief from the text alone.    


  
:Thanks, Mullet. You saved me there.:   


  
:What makes you think I won't tell on you?:   


  
:You won’t.:   


  
:How can you be so sure?: Keith mouthed the words as he typed them and waited for reality to dawn on Lance.   


  
Lance texted came two minutes later, soaked in muted horror. :I gave you sweets?:    


  
Keith snorted. He was pretty certain Lance forgot Shiro was his brother and yes, Keith had all the power to have him suspended from school. Lance must not have thought this through when he decided to text Keith for help during an exam.    


  
:Not a bribery since I don’t eat any. We’ll have theory as well as meditation next tutor session.:   


  
:Yes, Teacher.:    


  
Keith suppressed a full-body cringe. He hated being responsible for anything, especially knowledge. He knew what he knew but he could not convey his understanding well enough. He was not a teacher by any stretch of imagination.    


  
:I’m stopping all tutor sessions: He threatened and Lance immediately backtracked.   


  
:Sorry Captain Doofus.:    


  
Keith bit his lips. He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse, but he took what he could get. He didn't bother with a reply, considering the conversation finished but then Lance's typing bubbles cropped up again and pulled Keith back into total  defensive mode.    


  
Maybe that was why he couldn’t decipher Lance’s text until several hours later and had a moment of dimming enlightenment at what he had said yes to.    


  
:Want to take a sign language class with me tomorrow after class?:   
  


* * *

Keith ran his fingers up and down along the jacket’s zipper; his nail slipped into and out off constant ridges. If he could run his finger on a crinkle-cut chip, it would probably feel the same   


  
Piano mix whispered through his ear phones, fading out of existence whenever cars zipped past. A couple of old ladies exited the coffee shop, the wall of which he was leaning against, and brought with them a breeze of woody coffee and baked flour, not as wholesomeness as the first batch in the morning but just as good/diluted throughout the day with human's activity and smog but just as good. Shiro made a good call on insisting to open every windows when the bakery cafe opened for the day, basking their apartment in a homey scent of being cared for and lived in.    


  
A gust of wind whizzed by. A few coins jangled in the pocket as he zipped his jacket up partially; flirtatiously calling him to exchange them for a cup of coffee. Keith smoothed a coin between his fingers, a two with ridges on the side, constant friction warmed it up to his body temperature. Coffee- with five cubes of sugar and as much milk as he could put in without risking spilling - put embers onto his hands, too much energy that put his body into a state of constant worry and wanting to do something but nothing was sufficient. And yet, he hadn’t had one in many months and was in need of something else to do before the zipper was smoothed into non-existence.    


  
Mind made up, Keith pushed himself off the wall and took three steps to get inside the coffeeshop of warm wood, filled with pleasant smell of roast and dwindling of newly-baked pastry on the shelves towards the end of the day. The shopkeeper greeted him with a smile with a note of distant familiarity to it. Keith nodded back in cordiality, assimilating several different types of roasts and blends   on the blackboard behind the counter. They made his brain swirled; the cursive longhand they were written in reassembled his brain back into a Tachisme art of incomprehensible color daubs. Keith pointed at the very first one on the list - expresso.   


  
"For here or to go?"    


  
Keith raised two fingers and fished out the right amount of coins when the barista gave an affirmative nod. The rumbling noise of coffee machine popped up and jumped around the small enclose.   


  
It was a short wait. Before long, Keith was already outside, hot coffee - with dollop of milk and two packets of sugar inside and three extra ones in his pockets just in case - inside. Some students from the Academy passed by, the school emblem sparkled on their collar, a cursive A with a 3 following. Regular course students.    


  
Still Lance was nowhere in sight. Keith should have waited back in the apartment until Lance gave a ring. And yet, here he was, waiting outside since half past 4 - the time school was supposed to end - like an anxious boyfriend on a first date, which he was not. Keith took a sip of the coffee, effing and blinding Lance, and immediately spat it onto the ground. It was horrid, the amount of sweetness he added did nothing except for bringing out the acerbity. Someone let out a screech.    


  
“Keith, what the fuck?” Lance, who had finally decided to show up, pointed at the brown splotch on the ground with the most disgusted face, mouth downturned and deep lines connecting his brows into one single feature.    


  
Keith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing rapidly. The taste clung to the roof off his mouth and super-glued itself against the back off his throat, a grotty tang of sour sweetness that just didn’t go away. He pressed the coffee into Lance’s hands, who grabbed it, popped open the lid to smell the liquid, and took a sip.    


  
“Altea, did you put a sugar cane plantation worth of sugar in here?” Lance frowned, then downed it all in one go. “All coffee is coffee.”   


  
Keith goggled, robotically took the tissue and water bottle Lance offered.    


  
:How can you drink that? It’s disgusting.:    


  
“You made it disgusting, heathen.” Lance took back the water bottle. “I had four back-to-back exams today.”   


  
:You meant three exams and I took the rest for you?:   


  
“Mullet, let it lie. Alchemy History is the most boring course ever. You can’t tell me you don’t fall asleep reading it.”   


  
Keith never fell asleep reading it because he never read it in the first place. He just knew all the history, from Alfor Altea’s discovery in 1325, Phoenix Arrival in 1329, the Burgeoning of Alchemy in 1444; all important mileposts of Alchemy were ingrained in his brain, like he had lived through it all. He might have read too many history books back in the orphanage.    


  
In lieu of an answer, Keith pointed vaguely down the street, telling Lance to lead the way to this sign language class he asked Keith to come with.    


  
Lance pointed to the opposite direction, towards the city center with big glass buildings.    


  
“It’s not far, just around the corner of the wok store.”   


  
Keith knew that store; they sold okay lemon stir-fry per his experience four months ago. He nodded curtly, stepped down from the stairs and started walking towards it. Lance drew level with him. They walked in silence, Lance always half-a-step ahead of him, his pasta-legs giving him an advantage. Keith picked up his pace. Now he was ahead.    


  
It lasted only until Lance took an abnormally large step and shoved himself straight into Keith’s path.    


  
_ That’s it. _ Keith growled and pelted off, hitting Lance’s shoulders intentionally.    


  
Lance’s affronted “Hey” was music to his ears.    


  
They wove around pedestrians, did sharp turns and jumped over trash. Disgruntled exclaims filled the air, a few curses were flung, too, but Keith ignored them, keeping his center perfectly low and balanced and shot forward. Lance, however, shout out rapid fire streams of apologies while still matching Keith's speed; his long legs gave him unbelievable advantage.  At one point Keith moved his track onto the street, where cars zipped dangerously close to home and honked irritably. He put a good distance between them while Lance was halted with a sudden throngs of old tourists, unable to move. Keith slowed down and moved back onto the sidewalk; his conscience was power-washing the inundation of winning-drive away. It wouldn't be fair to Lance.    


  
Dodge. Side-step. Jump. Duck.   


  
“Right!” Lance hollered from somewhere in the web of vested pedestrians when they neared the intersection.    


  
Keith nodded and extended his hand towards a lamp post he was running full speed for. The sudden metal-cold zapped him like electricity when his hand made contact. With a focal point, Keith swung himself a clean 90 degree, shoulder popping threateningly, and flew off in the direction Lance instructed, a back alley to a restaurant with no people and more obstacles.    


  
Chaotic voices in a language like amber wave of grains floated in and out of his earing, mixing in with the hissing of gas fire and metal pots clanging. Cooking smoke rolled out from an opened window, a mouth-watering combination of onion and garlic. His stomach involuntarily let out a pitying growl. Keith warmed and growled in return, leapfrogging over a dumpster. That was uncalled for; he had snacked on the last of Colleen’s quiche before leaving. Lance’s stomach growling, however, was much louder, a rumbling snore of a truck-sized bear. Keith glanced to the side, smirking.    


  
“Oh shaddupm” Lance said, probably to both Keith and his stomach, and before in front of Keith’s own very eyes, casually ran vertically on the wall and overtook Keith. “Hah! You’re not the only one who’s got move, Mullet!”

  
  
Keith closed his mouth quickly and sped up, ignoring the hoarse screaming along his calves and desert dry of his throat. Lance whooped joyously and breathlessly when he caught up; the orange street light of the main road at the end of the lightless alley caught his blue eyes in a fiery flare. A line of dumpsters waited just ahead. Keith saw his opportunity. He jumped on top a dumpster nimble as a cat and speed-jumped along them, each landing made a echoing groan. Below him, Lance stretched out his step. The end of the dumpster was drawing close. Keith planned his next few steps carefully and, with calculated momentum, front-flipped down onto the tiled paver pavement of the main street.    


  
Lance yelled something incoherently. Keith couldn't hear it; the blood rushing along his body drowned out any noise that was not the thumping of his heart, the shuddering of his breath, or the chant/hymn/jingles of verve/ vim and vigor.    


  
Keith kept running; Lance's pounding of shoes on cement an echo of Keith's own booted feet. The burn in his lungs was an exhilarating one. Dry air fanned his bangs away from his face and slithered through his collar to dry his sweat-soaked back. The houses around this area were a copy pate of one another, similar down to the curtain. The echo suddenly stopped. Keith stopped as well and looked over his shoulders. Lance was gazing at his phone then glancing at the house plate. That must have been where the sign language class was. Keith backtracked, his legs nearly crumbled underneath him, tingling with discontent after the rigorous walk he put them through. Lance jerked his head to the house, brown hair plastered to forehead in glistening patches, when Keith drew near enough to hear.   


  
"This is — " Lance swallowed thickly, " — it."   


  
Keith nodded and took off his bomber to let his skin breathe. He tied it around the waist with one single knot and shakily collapsed onto the ground, the jacket a mini picnic blanket for his jeans; even his fingers spasmed sporadically, clenched too tightly in his competitive bout. Lance made a wordless, choking pigeon screech, clutching his sides tightly. Keith didn’t pay much attention to that scandalized expression — because he was sitting on his jacket? — rather he counted the up and down rhythm of Lance’s chest. It was erratic, following no apparent pattern and wrong.    


  
_ This cannot stand _ , Keith thought to himself, snapping his fingers to get Lance’s attention.  _ No wonder why he was horrid at meditating. _ _   
_

  
When Lance’s tired eyes loosely locked on his, Keith made a bastardized version of the “I’m watching you” and mouthed “Watch”.    


  
Lance stared in incomprehension for a while before letting out a small “oh” as he finally got what Keith was trying to convey. With apparent effort, he slowed his breathing to match Keith’s. Keith breathed in deeply; Lance mirrored it. Keith breathed out sedately; Lance wheezed out breathlessly. Every inhale and exhale, they steadily synchronized. Time slowed. Autumn twilight breeze flirtatiously twirled falling leaves for a spontaneous tango on the rooftop. They stayed like that for. . . Keith didn’t know how long exactly, just regulating breathing and existing, until he decided it was time to enter class.   


  
:4-7-8 rule. Remember this for our next meet-up: Keith typed, standing up, and brushed all the dirt away from the jacket. They all came away easily from the polyester    


  
Lance gave a thumbs-up, standing up in small intervals. His knees cracked like popping popcorn.    


  
“Universitying stymies my beach body,” Lance moaned, draping his jacket over his arms as he ascended the step.    


  
Keith didn’t know how to react to that so he kept his face closed and followed Lance instead.    


  
Murmuring and movement could already be heard as Lance rang the bell. Keith instinctively reconstructed the wall around himself, securing the straps of the fingerless-gloves around his w rists until they sat uncomfortably tight.    


  
The door that opened then swung shut behind his back snapped the gate to his fortress shut, bolted and barred.    
  


* * *

The lesson was —    


  
“That was fun. You have to agree with me, Mullet.” Lance slotted into his line of thought airily, and contradictorily, licking a bit of cream still left on his fingers. “Want some?”   


  
Keith eyed the offered whipped-cream smeared digit with disgust and moved away.    


  
“Your loss.” Lance shrugged, sucking the finger whole. “Have to admit though, Nyma makes some mean cake. Though not as good as Hunk. But I mean, I have to give her props. Hunk had been baking since the moment he could grab a spoon in his hand, which was like one-month-old when his parents gave it to him because he was crying for it-“   


  
Keith tuned out Hunk’s life story, whoever it was, and tried not to think about the apocalyptical lesson.    


  
Too bad, the more he kept avoiding it, the more vibrant the event played back in his memory.    


  
The lesson was, for lack of a better word, a lava tsunami of bad decisions and uncontrolled impulse that involved a flirty Lance and cake.   


  
Keith made up his mind. This was the first and last time he attended the class.   


  
They walked side by side, steps slow and sedate. The wind suddenly picked up, dragging with it a humid sense of an incoming autumnal shower. Keith tugged on Lance’s jacket and started jogging towards his apartment.    


  
“Keith! What?” Lance questioned but still running alongside Keith. 

 

Keith finger-spelt ‘rain’. The alphabet was coming in handy already.   


  
Lance squinted at his fingers, probably deciphering his words. Keith took pity on him and mimed putting his hands above his head.    


  
“Oh!” Lance exclaimed, understanding dawning on his face with the brightness of a billion suns. “It’s gonna rain?”   


  
That was when a drop of cold sky water hit Keith’s cheeks. Rain had started. And it started quickly. One drop then a hundred then a curtain of rain was dropped on them, the residual of a summer night rain, pelting every patch of exposed skin with bruising force, a punch drilling repeatedly for greater pain.    


  
Keith tried to outrun it. Rain whipped at him, pushed him back. Water slipped into his eyes, even his blinkers-at-max-speed blinking frequency couldn't help him see. Everything blurred; conical patch of street lights a nebula of ombre amber, light from shop signs a whirring dust cloud of white, tail lights of cars zipping past twin comets of cherry.    


  
A cosmic explosion of soaked marvel and icy throbs.    


  
Keith knew his limit when he saw it. He veered to the right, heading straight for the awning of a souvenir shop. What a souvenir shop was doing here this far out off the touristy city center, Keith had no idea, but he was thankful for it anyway; it was the only storefront with an awning installed. Not a second too soon, wind picked up and buffeted him, forcing his legs to slide a bit wider to maintain balance. Lance tumbled into him though, like a sack of carrots. Keith managed to stay upright.    


  
Before his eyes, rain waved through the air, fine folds of glistening silk furling and unfurling, a shower straight out of Bible. Water went splat against everything that got in the way its march. The last vestige of a red leafy autumn was wiped out of existence.    


  
Under somewhat shelter, Keith wrung water out of the tail end of his hair and sniffled harshly. His clothes stuck to his skin like a sheet of heavy snow, proving to be a practice of futility if he attempted to squeeze out water. Besides him, arm touching, Lance shouted an off-hand comment to be heard over the grass cutting machine drone of rain.    


  
“Nice weather . . .  for ducks.”    


  
It was so Pidge-humor it drew a surprised laugh out of Keith. He had to wonder if Lance somehow knew Pidge from A3. They were from the same class after all.   


  
As all things did, the torrent sluggishly came to an end. Gale waned to well-tempered cool air, herding water droplets into a controlled free-falling. Keith prepared to step out when a hand on his elbow reeled him back in. Lance was eyeing him, specifically the back of his head, critically. Keith bristled, jerking his arm away from Lance’s hold but he held on even more firmly.    


  
"I forget you are a walking fashion disaster with no love for the versatility of a hoodie,” Lance commented, pointing to his own hood-covered head and finally let go of Keith’s arm to search for something in his pocket.    


  
Keith looked on confusedly as Lance pulled out a tube of acrylic paint and took off his jacket, sketching a transmutation circle onto the back of his jacket, a mono-tier one mainly for simple reformat of a base material. Then he pressed both hands over the proportionately shrunk circle and closed his eyes in concentration. Light flared up; fabric jiggled and reshaped itself into whatever Lance had planned on his mind.     


  
A quadrangle umbrella with no skeletal support, a strip of handle transformed from zipper that instantly bent over when he picked it up was the last thing Keith expected Lance to transmute.    


  
“I totally planned it.” Lance nodded to himself from under the quasi-umbrella, holding one side of it out for Keith to get in. The useless zipper-handle dangled uselessly between them.    


  
Then they stepped out side by side from under the awning and back into the pattering, large rain droplets clobbering his covered head. They matched each other step for step, not outright running but a hurried jog to get to the warm place. The streets were devoid of any life save for pitter pattering of lonely rain. Side by side, but clothes wet and, as far as Keith could feel, both shivering lightly, they just managed to gain more cold rather than warming up. But the great thing about being wet and cold was that he could no longer feel the wet and cold.    


  
The  intersection up ahead signaled his apartment was near. Finally he could have dry clothes and be warm. And then, out of the blue, Lance bodily slammed him into the mouth of a connecting alleyway - a puddle was where his feet landed - and hooked an arm around his waist to pull him along. Keith was too shocked at the cold swim his socks and shoes had just taken to protest.   


  
They ran across the street without looking neither left nor right before stopping in front of a coffee shop. ‘Geodes’, the sign said as Keith squinted up at the yellow neon sign. A non-descriptive coffeeshop, seemingly cozy with deep orange and wooden furniture. Lance removed the umbrella and pushed the door open, even though the wooden board was flipped to ‘Closed’. He held it open, clearly waiting for Keith to come inside.    


  
Lance made it looked like they were trespassing but Keith only had two option right now; suffering from the cold or breaking into a coffee shop and illegally whipping up something hot to warm up. Keith picked the second option.    


  
Lance relocked the doors behind and flipped the lights on. Keith blinked a few times to get used to the brightness. The shop was more of a turmeric yellow than his initial observation  of russet orange, misdirected badly due to the street lights; lovely turmeric yellow cushions neatly arranged on light wooden couch frame. The shop smelt of a flow-y flowery scent mixed in with coffee, not a bad smell but a weird combination to Keith’s nose. He stood there, taking in the nice little shop and enjoyed not being sheared away by cold wind, He dared not tread his mud-crusted shoes and Gretel-trailed water-droplets anywhere. Lance, however, strode for the counter, his shoes splish-sploshing on clean tiled floor and branding it with muddy prints. He slapped the service bell repeatedly. Crystalline tingling echoed and rippled inside the closed off storefront, a harmonic siren song were sirens to be real. Keith rubbed his arms uncomfortably. Like all siren songs in stories, beautiful until sailors were dragged to their death, he started to get the creeps from this chiming sound, in the empty coffee shop, with wind screeching outside and naked tree branches’ rocking shadow on the floor.    


  
He was ready to step out of his own puddle, an apology statement to the shop owner fully composed in his head, to confiscate the service bell from Lance before a new, and thankfully human, voice cut in.    


  
“Lance, stop please. I’m coming.” Out stepped from the kitchen right behind the bar, a girl in olive pullover with short hair, her copper hoop earrings swinging with her hurried steps. She smoothly took the bell from under Lance’s insane smacking and put it somewhere underneath the bar. “Hello Lance. What can I do for you?”    


  
_That must be the shop’s owner,_ Keith thought. She had a nice voice, mellow like smooth glass. She seemed nice, so Keith wasn’t going to have police cuff his hands behind his back anytime soon.    


  
“A menu, please.”Lance held out his hand, exaggeratedly haughty like a rich patron in a fancy Michelin-starred restaurant. He flipped to a random page and acted surprised “Oh? There’s a new dish, Shay?   


  
“Oh, where?” The owner, Shay, seemed genuinely surprised and leant in to look at the spot Lance was pointing.    


  
“Right here. Me-n-U.”    


  
Keith aud ibly groaned and covered his face completely. Not this again. That “I think we would make a cute pear” with Nyma back at sign language class was bad enough as it was.    


  
Keith expected a slap, a tired sigh, anything but the shy and bubbly laughter he was hearing from Shay. She was laughing into her hand, the corners of her eyes crinkling up with kosher mirth.    


  
“That’s so sweet, Lance.” She wiped her eyes with a thumb, still smiling widely.   


  
Lance threw his arms in the air.   


  
“Finally! Someone who appreciate my greatness.”    


  
Keith snorted in disbelief, loud enough to turn Shay’s attention on himself. She made a small “oh” as her eyes, a  mystifying jade with flecks of gold, finally found him standing in the doorway, a puddle of water underneath his feet.    


  
“Oh dear! You both are soaking wet.” She exclaimed, alarmed, and plowed right over Lance’s cough ‘because of you’, “Hang on, I’ll grab some towels and Hunk from the back.”   


  
Then she disappeared, presumably to get Hunk, Lance’s friend, and towels so Keith could finally dry himself.    


  
Keith didn’t know getting Hunk and towels involved blaring air horn and clanging metal for Shay, but a second later she came running out with towels towered in her arms, enough to cover the entire area of the coffeeshop and still wrap Keith and Lance in several layers. Hunk dogged her steps, a yellow apron across his waist and smudges of white flour all over his face, worried lines embedded across his face. He was speaking nonstop, too.    


  
“Oh man, what do you mean Lance needs help? Is he okay? What about his friend? Are they hurt too? Is it life threatening? Oh my god, Shay, please tell me there’s an ambulance coming. I don’t want Lance and his friend dying of hypothermia-“   


  
“I make great floor art you know Hunk.” Lance barged into Hunk’s rant, gesturing to his own body. “Nothing can go wrong with this fine body. In fact sale is predicted to soar.”   


  
Hunk took one look at Lance, made a dying whale ‘eep!’ and threw all the towels he was carrying on his arms onto Lance and burrito-wrapped him. Lance made abated jerking and aggravated sighs; Hunk persistently tousled his hair and tch-ing worriedly.    


  
Keith hid a smile. Lance looked so much like Doctor Fabio’s - a, well, doctor who lived two floors above Shiro’s and his apartment - poodle; disgruntled and curly wet hair. His proud gleefulness didn’t last long though, as a shadow swallowed him whole. Shay stood there, all stormy sternness with the tower of impending towels. Keith took a half step back, putting his arms up defensively but Shay was faster and more determined than he gave her credit for. She draped a big tower over his shoulders and dropped the small one on top of his head and started drying his hair, with practiced movement of a hairdresser. Keith resigned himself to his faith and wrapped the towel tighter around his body. The fabric felt soft in his hand, and warm and pleasant like wooly sunlight. Shay moved her hands up and down, then left and right, hypnotic like a water wheel going round and round. It was a enjoyable feeling. Sleepiness gently snared his mind. Keith yawned. Shay chose that exact moment to remove the towel.    


  
“Aww. What a cute little Keithy yawn.” Lance cooed, tidal waves of satire rolling off every syllable.     


  
It was too late for Keith to bite his lips to stop the yawn so he turned the other way, covering his mouth and flipped a bird in Lance’s direction.    


  
“Lance, be nice.” Shay reproached, guiding him into a booth. “But you’re right though, he does have a kitty yawn. His eyes are all shut tight and his nose does this little twitching.”   


  
Keith bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He did _not_  have a cat yawn. Lance made one high-pitched squawk before coughing his lungs out, probably having swallowed saliva into the wrong pipe. Hunk thumped his back helpfully as Shay left Keith sitting at the table and went for the bar. She came back with a cup of water for Lance, who unthinkingly downed it in one go and managed to choke himself even more. Keith thought an ambulance would be a great idea now; Lance couldn’t seem to breathe properly, his face and ears an asphyxiating red. He couldn’t even stand, Keith was about to pull out his phone and dialed the emergency number when Hunk leant down to whisper something in Lance’s ears. It was too low for Keith to hear but he conjectured it must be some sort of soothing word, for Lance was inhaling and exhaling normal again, rattling sound like a twister of loose rocks in a vacuum.    


  
But Hunk’s expression when he drew back to give Lance space was one of suppressed eager of having a doubt confirmed. Keith narrowed his eyes for three seconds flat before deciding it was not his business and shifted nearer to the heater. Warm air rolled around his legs, painstakingly chasing the cold away, one goosebumps after another. A grateful sigh escaped him and Shay, who occupied the seat opposite, gave a small smile.   


  
“I can put it on higher if you want.” She mouthed.    


  
Keith shook his head and briefly smiled in thanks because he had manners and knew how to use them despite what Shiro surmised. This temperature was ideal, he could press both his palms flat on the surface without having them turned into nicely-grilled chicken breast.    


  
Lance slid into the spot next to him, humphing and still red in the ears. Keith didn’t say anything, his mind only thinking about the comfortable warmth gradually creeping under his skin. Then Hunk came and slid a slice of cake towards him.    


  
“Bouncy house cheesecake.” Hunk sat himself down next to Shay, his shoulders touching hers lightly. “And uh, what do you think?”   


  
“I like the name.” Lance commented immediately, picking up his fork and drummed the cake.    


  
Keith observed the slice first, a smooth brown and buttery yellow sponge. It smelt sweet, a balance sweetness of eggs, milk, butter, and cheese. And as his reaction to all thing sweet, his admiration for the talent that went into making these hit the rooftop but he was less than thrilled at the thought of tasting it. He pressed his fork lightly on top. True to its name, it jiggled and wiggled. Keith fought off the random urge to stick googly eyes on it.    


  
“Buen provecho!’ Lance said. And before Keith’s own very eyes, he stabbed - actually stabbed, pierced the piece of cake a 90 degree angle - and lifted it up and bit into it like a sausage.    


  
Keith stared. And stared. Who in their right mind did this? Even  _ he _ knew better than this. That’s not how one eats cake! He looked to Shay and Hunk for support. There was absolutely no reaction. At all. Hunk was tapping the tips of his fingers together in eager anticipation while Shay smiled softly at him, blissful joy exuding from her very presence. No reactions to Lance’s unorthodox cake-eating. It seemed that *Keith himself* was the only one overreacting.    


  
“Itsfurfect.” Lance finished the slice in three large bites, giving Hunk a thumbs up. He swallowed and then turned to Keith. “Shoes and jacket off. Give them to me.”    


  
Keith fingerspelt the letter “Y”, cake forgotten for the moment at the command out of nowhere.   


  
“I have no idea what you just signed but I know you’re asking for reasons. There’s none. Just do as I said.” Lance held his hand out towards him and looked in the other direction.    


  
Keith frowned deeply. He couldn’t get a read on Lance’s intention. What was he going to do? Why was he asking this? What’s the point? There were too many questions and not enough information to form his own hypothesis. He wanted answers. With a frustrated sigh, Keith took off his jacket and dropped it in the awaiting hand. The shoes proved to be harder to remove, wet and sucking on his socks. He pulled on the lace, loosening them greatly until the shoes finally squeaked away, chafing his heels. He kicked them in Lance’s direction and picked up his fork - not to stab Lance though he was tempted - to take a bite out of the cake Hunk prepared.   It melt on his tongue, still warm and sweet.    


  
:It’s good. Spongy soft: Keith pushed his phone towards Hunk. Shay leant over to read.    


  
Hunk scratched his cheek, smiling bashfully as Shay alighted a hand on his shoulders.    


  
“See? I told you it’s good,” she said, her smile was so gentle and earnest it affected Keith.    


  
The smile Hunk returned was no less incandescent.   


  
Keith felt like an intruder, an awkward stranger mistakenly walking in on a film set and ruining the moment. So he looked away, to Lance crawling on all four and splattering blue paint on the floor in a transmutation circle with his shoes and jacket at the epicenter. A cursory glance at the component chemical section gave him the compositions of hydrogen, oxygen, nylon, polyester and cotton. Rubber was missing. He took a tissue from the table and moved down to sit next to Lance, surveying the handiwork. His circles weren't perfect and the stars were lopsided, but it should work since Lance more or less was connected to the energy. Keith wiped a small portion of the chemical identifiers and wedged rubber composition in, a nondescript loop that decided whether his shoes remain shoes or not.    


  
Lance nodded, taking back his tube of paint and slapped Keith on the back.   


  
"You do it."   


  
:You drew the circle.: Keith typed, blinking owlishly. Him incapable of performing alchemy wasn’t news. Lance seemed like the person savvy of gossip to not know this.    


  
"It's your shoes." Lance crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.    


  
:You made me take them off: Keith typed, even more  nonplused. Where was Lance going with making him do alchemy?   


  
"You drew on the floor, Lance. You do it." Shay chimed in.    


  
“What Shay said.” Hunk squatted down opposite of Keith, inspecting the formula. He reached over to Lance to pluck the paint tube out of his hands. Then he drew a square around the entire circle.    


  
Keith wrinkled his nose in distaste. A square for stabilizing abrogated/rode roughshod over the nub that Alchemy was built upon, flow. Energy was flow, it was supposed to be understood and befriended. Energy was life, it was sui generis. The implementation of a stabilizer in alchemy study began in 1793, right after the Rising of Phoenix when the Alteas successfully contrived Oriande, the stone of legend. Keith disagreed with every blood vessel in his body. The Alteas were the original alchemists, they should understand energy better than everyone, and yet.    


  
“Hunk, you are no longer my best man.” Lance grumbled for the sake of grumbling as he splayed his hands at the edge of circle and closed his eyes.    


  
White light flared up along paint lines. Keith watched intently. Before his very eyes, something ethereal and extra-science was happening. His heart thrummed in excitement. He felt pumped, excited, more alive than he had ever thought possible. Matters decomposed and reformed from atomic level up in an intriguing aurora of white, soundless but so loud in consequence, all according to the alchemists’ will.    


  
All too soon, lights shimmered away, leaving in its departure a gaping hole he had no way to fill, fissures he clumsily closed up with subpar substitute. Already Keith missed the exhilarating symphony of energy, a true-blue partner for a piano duet. At the center of the circle, his shoes and jacket was as dry as ever. Keith retrieved them and was about to put on his shoes before realizing his socks were uncomfortably wet.   


  
“Man, that was bright.” Hunk rubbed his eyes.    


  
“Sorry bud.” Lance pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Maybe Iverson went blind in one eye because of this. How even does he see - Mullet, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”   


  
Keith dropped his wet socks into the center and, at Lance’s dirty look, mimed pressing his hands on the floor.    


  
“I’m *not*-“ Lance smacked his hands down on the floor. The circle lit up for a total of three seconds before dimming. “-your maid, Mullet.”   


  
Keith picked up his complete dry socks and put them on, nodding in thanks. The socks were different from their original state though. The grey threads around the toes now spelt out the word ‘mullet’ across his feet. Keith quirked an eyebrow, impressed. This precision over the energy flow was no jokes.     


  
The feel of dry socks, dry shoes and dry jacket revived him. Never again would he take these for granted. Keith slid back into his seat, munching on the now cold slice of cake. Lance stretched to a stand, bending his back to an impossible curve. He pulled a wet tissue out from his pocket and wiped the ash circle away. The reason why chalk was advisable; dust particle could no longer deteriorate.   


  
Lance slid onto the spot, draping his arms over the table, checking on his phone. Keith focused back to eating. The cake was not as spongy as it had been, cooled down to a firmer and more buttery state. He wanted to ask for a glass of water but he just *knew* that if he asked for something, Shay or Hunk would give him something fancier than water and he truly dearly did not want to bother neither of them any more. So Keith sat still, savoring the taste with slow bites to halt his need for water.  Besides him, Lance let out a strangled gasp, standing up so fast his knees hit the table, unfortunately toppling Keith’s slice of cake.    


  
“Masks sale! Fuck!” He swore, swinging his bag over the shoulders and left the cafe in a snowstorm, leaving Keith alone.   


  
Keith looked to Shay and Hunk and shrugged apologetically. To his surprise, Hunk left his seat and sidled next to him with a bland mischievous smile. Keith was suddenly apprehensive. He grabbed the back of the couch, ready to vault at the first sight of danger.    


  
“So-“ Hunk began, the syllable dangerously elongated and filled with unhidden curiosity. Keith angled himself away. “-you like Lance?"   


  
Shay's affronted sputter coincided with his fork scraping on the plate, sending chilling shiver up his arms.    


 

"Hunk!" Shay reprimanded, disappointment palpable in her tone.    


  
Keith didn't hear Hunk's rationale. Couldn't, not with the blood roaring in his ears like a confusing waterfall. His breathing slowed to an almost stop, a stark contrast to the turbo-heart in his chest, burning his rib bones away kinetic-converted thermal energy.    


  
Him? Liking Lance? It was incomprehensible. Lance was loud, he stood and thrived in attention. Keith braced attention by building a sea wall around himself. Lance was social, people flocked around him like moths to flame, a fire burning for eons to come. Keith warded against people with spears of ice.    


  
They each stood at the very end of a ruler, precariously balanced on the tip of a needle. The chance of them meeting at the middle relied solely on the blind belief that if one took a step forward, the other must follow. Neither of them had taken a step, until now. Keith had talked more in this week alone than he did the last three years combined. He told Lance the reason for his silence, something only Shiro and the Holts had been made aware after Keith had spent half of his life with them.    


  
Lance felt like water to him, a winter spring, a summer sea, soothing and real.    


  
Keith's brain tripped over nothing and tumbled off the cliff, falling forever in the void of epiphany.    


  
He really truly did have feelings for Lance.    


  
How did one do feels again?   


  
“-nosy! I was just curious!”   


  
“Keith is Lance’s friend-“   


  
“-who I need to know everything about.”    


  
Sounds trickled back into his understanding, a Gregorian chant Keith couldn’t make out of a single word but knew it was something normal made surreal.    


  
"Hunk, no." Shay sighed into her hands. "Not like that."   


  
This was very surreal, being interrogated by a technically stranger about his feelings for someone he had known for a week. And Keith wasn't at all offended. He wanted to know things, to get straight to the point, if Hunk hadn't asked, this whole thought process would have never crossed his mind. So in parts, he was thankful for Hunk and offended that he let himself be read so easily. No one had ever dug this deep into him before. Maybe Shiro could, but Shiro was Shiro, who imprinted all the notice point in his brain and filed them under a part he dedicated just for Keith; Shiro just knew even without asking. Hunk was a stranger that Keith had never met before in his life.    


  
Keith looked to Hunk. A nondescript guy twice as big as he was and and could crush Keith if he ever chose to tackle hug him. Soft, sweet and caring like a marshmallow, but all marshmallow ever did to Keith was sticking to his teeth and never removing the yucky sweet after taste on its own. But there's something more to Hunk, he cared for Lance. Keith loosened his death grip on the sofa, wincing slightly when he notice the crescent marks littering on the cushion.    


  
"Yes, Shay. I understood." Hunk deflated, blowing air through his mouth with the biggest pout Keith had ever witnessed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared petulantly at the table.    


  
Keith resisted the urge to reach over to pat him. He didn't know how well that would be received and he was still wary of Hunk. So Keith methodically picked up his fork and ate the spongy cake in contemplative silence. It tasted just as good as it had been, it was just him not focusing enough on it to notice the taste. He had feelings for Lance. That was as unexpected and surprising as, say, Pidge, suddenly loving the sunny outdoor and bursting out in cheerful Disney songs. Then again, him having the hots for Lance was apparently a reality so Pidge singing Hakuna Matata might happen someday.    


  
"Keith," Shay said his name. Keith looked up to see her wearing the truest apologetic wince Keith had ever borne witness to. Everything about Hunk and Shay just screamed sincerity. Keith put his fork down to listen to her. "I apologize. Hunk isn't this overly inquisitive most of the time. I couldn't take back what had been said." Here she frowned at Hunk, who shrunk upon himself and pouted even further. "So I can only apologize as we might have intruded on your privacy."    


  
Shay finished her speech with her head hung, short hair obscuring her face completely. And Keith panicked. This wasn't that serious to begin with. This really wasn't! Shay wasn't supposed to be apologizing to him. Keith turned to Hunk, desperate for guidance. Hunk, too, had his head hung and gnawing on his lips.    


  
What should he do? Emotions and social tactfulness had never been his forte. His heart beat faster, his mind swirling with incomprehension, an endless call-ending noise. So Keith did the only thing he could think of. He pulled out his phone, and typed with clumsy fingers and slid it towards Shay. His fingers shook when he drew back as if touching fire. He hoped it was enough. Because if that wasn't, he really had no idea what to do.    


  
:It's alright. I forgive:   


  
Shay looked at his phone screen until it went dark, the light casting eerie white threads on her dark hair. Keith sat on his hands to stop them from tapping in anticipation. He should not have came out of the house tonight. This was all a mess.    


  
Finally, blessedly finally, Shay looked up, a tremulous hopeful smile on her face.    


  
"For what it's worth still, I'm sorry. We shouldn't have put you in the spot like that." She said, pushing his phone back to him.    


  
Keith pocketed it and let out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding. Shay said "we". But only Hunk asked that. He wanted to correct her but somehow he knew, if he did it, he wouldn't be able to befriend these people again. And somehow, for the first time, he wanted to get to know Shay and Hunk.    


  
"Actually, Hunk has a proposition for you." Shay said again, this time with more confidence and cheer. "Right?" She aimed a smile at Hunk, still real but had an edge to it, a warning.   


  
"Right." Hunk uncrossed his arms from his chest, and placed them on the table, keeping Keith's gaze. "We, that is Pidge and I, have been developing a tool."    


  
Hunk pulled out his phone, put something on and handed it to Keith. On the screen, a circlet of metal was spinning circle. It looked pretty normal to Keith, except for all the blue glowing rectangle at the edge. He dimly remembered spying this on a piece of paper on the floor when Pidge had knocked herself out in Shiro and Keith's apartment. Hunk knew Pidge. It didn't surprise Keith as much as he had thought. And seriously, when he put it together like that, Pidge probably knew Lance too.    


  
"It's a neural transmitter." Hunk explained, zooming in on one of the rectangle. "This here is set up with three hyperspeed microchips, newly developed by Altea R&D. Ask Pidge for more details on this. Anyway, my point is that the chips are powerful enough to pick up brain waves and translate them into readable format. One chip is powerful enough for it but Pidge," here Hunk blew a raspberry in clear disapproval of whatever Pidge did, "insisted on double-modulating and wasted too much valuable space."   


  
Keith looked at the slowly revolving circlet again. He wasn't certain if he understood all the jargon Hunk said but if he got the gist of it correctly-   


  
"Simply put, this will be your voice."    


  
The phone slipped out of Keith's hold. His heart leapt for his throat as he swung his hand to catch it before Hunk's scream even ended. Shakily, he handed the phone back to Hunk with both hands, just in case and leant heavily against the cushion, wishing it would swallow him whole just so he could postpone dealing with this. He didn't know what to think. It wasn't that he didn't have anyway of communicating, it just that he didn't need to. Everyone close to him had known him long enough to pick up his cues. He wasn't used to people making him things just because they would like to. Again, he wished he had curled up on his sofa this night and never accepted Lance's invitation to go to the sign language class in the first place.    


  
"Keith?" Shay called softly, yanking him out of his thoughts. "What do you think about the design? I lend a hand in modeling it. Though I admit there has to be a lot of redesigning since the 3D printer at A3 only work with some specific carbon-based metal."   


  
His mind blanked. What was going on? Here they were, Shay and Hunk, two relatively strangers, making him some machinery that were light years ahead of current technology, and Pidge, too. Who knew for how long she had been sitting on this? He felt indebted. This wasn't supposed to happen. What could he ever do to show his appreciation?   


  
Hunk and Shay were eyeing him with open eager, their eyes sparkling like proud biologists having their Eureka moment. Keith couldn't exactly say no, could he? So he smiled and managed a jerking nod. He hoped his smile didn't came out too much as a grimace, though basing on the gleeful smile exchanged between them, he managed it.    


  
He needed to think of an appropriate repayment.    
  


* * *

  
"Rough night?" Shiro asked from the sofa, this time not surrounded with papers but with a pile of freshly cleaned clothes.    


  
Faint wisps of lavender hung around the place, flowing into his olfactory senses as he moved about. Shiro picked up a shirt, turned it inside out and folded it, movement slow and deliberate. He folded clothes nicely too, fashion store like. Keith didn’t do anything too loudly, not wanting to disrupt his therapeutic moment. He meandered into the wash room and flipped on the lights. This was the only room with white fluorescent light, his buying mistake. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with it, it was just that orange lights agreed with his eyes better. The jacket in his hand suddenly weighed like lead. Lance's jacket.    


  
_You guys have tutor session tomorrow, right?_ It's Lance's favorite. Hunk's words echoed in his mind, unassuming as ever.    


  
Water droplets fell, hitting his socked feet. Keith flung it out, in search for the materials tag. 30 degree wash. He never did this for any of his clothes. Why did he feel the need to do this to Lance's one single jacket? Keith tossed it into the machine, dumped more than enough washing liquid for one item, and biting his lips, putting in a dollops of Shiro's lavender softener, something he never used on his clothes because the fresh smelling of the liquid was strong enough for his nose. He started the old thing, kicked it once and it shook to life. They needed to transmuted some new pieces for the rotor.    


  
Then he wandered back out into the living room, where the pile of clothing surrounding Shiro was no less huge. Shiro was doing this like a real sloth, slowly, painstakingly enjoying the moment. Keith made some room for himself on the sofa and took out his sketch pad. He flipped to a random page and began sketching. His memory of Lance's jacket was slipping away but he was sure he got everything down correctly, from the cotton hood, to the symmetrical darker olive green patches on the shoulders to the orange decorative bands around the forearms. Keith was at the lower half of the jacket when he hit a stump. He couldn't remember if there were flaps over the pockets or not. His memory, good as it was, said no; but his rationality and logical thinking said yes because pockets without zippers or covering flaps were valueless. So he drew the flaps. Well, if he was wrong, Lance could always transmute it back to its original state. With that decided, the rest of the sketch passed in a breeze. Keith clipped the pen to the collar of his shirt, holding the sketches out in front of him to check for mistakes; back view, sideview and front view. White hood, two sewing lines and the patch of dark green around the shoulders upper half of the back, check. Dark green bands at the wrists, orange bands at the shoulders, check. Dark green flaps, asymmetrical sewing lines, pockets with flaps and buttons, and fake chest pockets, check. All correct according to his memory.    


  
The washing machine let out a crystalline ding. It had finished. Keith tilted his head, surprised at himself. He had been so focused he didn't even notice the annoying creak of tumble drying; the aggravating, teeth grinding sound that had him out of the apartment faster than fire alarm did. For the first time ever, he sat through it, all thanks to his fixation on Lance's jacket. Keith clicked his pen at light speed, thoughts waves crashing against jagged sea rocks of emotions. Did this much attention to Lance's jacket equate to Keith cottoning to him? Feelings foxed him in that it made sounds unexpected of its looks. He was clueless and had so many questions he would like to ask but he knew only he could answer them and frankly, he did not like that fact. Shiro smacked his hand with a T-shirt.    


  
“Stop that.”    


  
Keith put the pen away and play with the button on his gloves. At least it was quieter. And brought his attention to another pressing matter that was not Lance.    


  
:You know about Pidge’s project and didn’t tell me: Keith wrote on the coffee receipt he kept in his pocket and put it on the pile of clothing for Shiro to read.    


  
Shiro glanced at it, picked up a pair of jeans and straightened them out.    


  
"You met Hunk, then." He continued at Keith's more silent silence. "I do. She's been working on it for months. Don't give me that look, Keith. I know you. Had I told you, you would have done everything possible to derail her from it."   
  
:But why? Doesn't she have enough work as it is?: Keith texted back angrily.    


  
Shiro's phone vibrated on the coffee table. The message flashed across the to-do list screensaver. It was filled with bullet points. Shiro pocketed it, shoving the pile of clothes onto the floor and turned around to face him fully, the pose that told of an impending lecture. Keith unconsciously casted his gaze to the side.   


  
"Listen to me, Keith. Pidge designs it for you because she wants to! No one is making her so anything. The same goes for Hunk and Shay. They just want to help."   


  
:What if I don't want help?: Keith petulantly typed, heart heavy with unpaid debt of gratitude. Pidge, he could make up for her somehow. But Hunk and Shay? He had no idea how! He was not someone they should waste time for.   


  
Pain flared up on top of his head, throwing him away from his thoughts for a blink. Shiro drew his first away, and sat back down again, this time mirroring Keith's crossed arms. He glared at Keith out of the corner of his eyes, the intensity palpable; his mouth twisting downwards in not an angry but clearly vexed.    


  
"Someday I hope you'll realize that you are loved, Keith." He wrenched  out the scarf from a ball of twisted clothes and roughly flung it over the back of the sofa. All the care and tranquility from earlier gone.    


  
Keith didn't know what to do. Shiro rarely got angry, never at him. This was the first time he was on the receiving end of his temper, true temper and not the exasperated annoyance he reserved for Keith. The air between them didn't thicken. It hardened.    


  
Not knowing what to say, Keith turned back to his sketch but his fingers twitched in anxiety. He ended up drawing aimless circles. The washing machine let out two hammering dings, making spider web cracks on the wall between Shiro and him. Keith stood up and went behind the sofa to get the jacket out.    


  
Straight out of the dryer, Lance's not-jacket burnt his hand comfortably before cooling down to a nice warmth. The lavender fragrance though, it burned his nose. Keith sneezed so hard his ears popped. He might have been too generous on the fabric softener.    


  
Shiro arched an eyebrow when he stepped back into the living room with the not-jacket. His anger thankfully had dissipated like smoke in the air.    


  
"Green? Unexpected," he said, "At least it's not another red jacket so I'm not complaining."   


  
Keith sighed noisily, dumped Lance's not-jacket on the dining table, and shoved his written reply on the sketchbook in Shiro's face.   


  
:Not mine.:   


  
"It's Lance's. I know." Shiro pulled a jacket from the pile, fist pumping triumphantly. "Ha! Pidge owes me."    


  
Keith looked at him, confused. Is there a bet on him going on he isn't aware of?   


  
"Nothing of importance." The smile Shiro wore and the way his white bangs fell over his left eye gave Keith the distinct impression that whatever he and Pidge were colluding together would make Keith leave the country and start a new life in the mountains with dormice as friends.    


  
Whatever it was, Keith was better off not knowing if he wanted to sleep well at night.    


  
:Can you help transmute?: Keith tapped the sketches of Lance's jacket on his pad and shook out the not-jacket to show Shiro the misshapen state of it now.    


  
Shiro took the pad from his hand, stared at it, then glanced at the piece of olive fabric Keith stretched out in front of himself then looked back down again, eyebrows nearly touching the hairlines.    


  
"Lance transmuted this-" Shiro jabbed his finger at the sketch; then he pointed at the rectangle destruction in Keith's hand, his mouth forming an impressed 'O'. "-to that with a telescoped circle?"    


  
Keith nodded.    


  
"Impressive." Shiro tipped his head forward, picking up his box of chalk and drew a perfect circle on the table. "Telescoped transmutation circles discombobulate even the best alchemists. Matt told me he saw Iverson scream into the fish tank because he couldn't make it work."   


  
Shiro dotted five spots, equally spaced on the circle and outlined a central controlling star in one single chalk-stroke. Keith dropped Lance's not-jacket right in the middle as Shiro started on the outer edge of chemicals and energy lettering, an Alteas' creation to popularize the art of chemistry. Keith breathed out a laugh. He knew exactly which fish tank Iverson screamed into. There was only one big enough for him to poke his head in; the one in the central meeting room that also housed a school of majestic cobalt fish with concentric circles markings Keith had taken to liking. He could imagine them bubbling confusedly and waving their little fins at Iverson's silent shouting.    


  
Shiro placed the chalk to the side carefully and placed his hands so that the tip of his middle fingers just skimmed the edge of the circle, all according to the books. Lights begin singing in their little conjoin kitchen, dining, and living room, a hymn under starry sky. His hands extended towards it, wanting to hold it, to feel the energy that thrummed the earth and glided through every alchemist's veins. Light couldn’t be touched, it couldn’t be held. So Keith admired it, its twirling dance of shadow and light through the cracks between his fingers. He had been able to touch it once, he knew he had. Lights felt like mother’s smile and sister’s touch and father’s hold. Light was family and friends to him.    


  
He missed it. So much.    


  
The lights dimmed, shadow got darker. Keith almost cried out, thrusting out his arm to its physical limit. No, not yet! He had questions! He was not ready to part!   


  
As abrupt as it had came, the lights left him without a by your leave, again and again. His eyes stung. He hurriedly wiped them with the collar of his jacket, frustrated. He had long accepted the reality that he could never hold the light and feel the energy, so why was he upset now? Why was he crying? Why?   


  
“I think I got it down pat.” Shiro hummed appreciatively,  deliberately louder than his normal indoor volume. He shook out the jacket to Keith and busied himself with inspecting the sketch for any discrepancies. “What do you think?”   


  
:OK: Keith tapped on the wooden chair he was leaning against, and gave a thumbs-up for good measure when Shiro eyed him expectantly.    


  
“All right.” In expert moves, Shiro folded Lance’s jacket into a neat square worthy of clothing shop display and handed it to Keith when he walked by to get to his room, three of folded clean clothes perfectly balanced, one on his head and two along his arms. “Don’t sleep with it.”   


  
Shiro winked, then whizzed inside his room and shut his doors before whooping victoriously.   


  
“Matt, Pidge, pay up! I told you both I know Keith better than I know Iverson’s hiding places for his eye-patch.”   


  
Keith didn’t think much of that, busy sitting on how best to give Lance’s back his jacket without making it seemed like he had been staring at it for too long. 

* * *

  
Keith was ashamed at himself that it took him a full eight hours to realize the implication of Shiro’s wink and that uproarious laughter. Unfortunately, he was riding his motorcycle and couldn’t very well drop his head the dashboard. Keith rolled off the throttle. Underneath him, the engines roared, heaving with excitement and unshed annoyance. Trees blurred in brown smears as he sped down the slope, pressing himself closer to the bike, its rumbling urging him on.    


  
Stupid Lance and his stupid jacket could wait. Keith needed to let off some steam first. 


	8. Lance

Lance sighed. A breezed sighed with him, slithering underneath his shirt. He wrung his hands together, not knowing where to put them without the familiarity of his jacket. He felt exposed. Around him, trees denuded thoroughly of their fire ombre shaggy coat stood due to last night’s hellish gale, all pursed lips and affronted like someone found out plan got cancelled at the last minute and had to put away all the fancy clothes.    


  
This place was far enough from the slab of rock he needed to meet Keith. He sucked in a breath of air until it filled his chest to a bursting point, his ribs expanding.    


  
Then he wailed, whale-like.   


  
He wailed out all the air stored in his lungs until a cough rattled his throat.    


  
“No, no,” he whispered to himself, rubbing his hands in circles on his face. “No, no, no.”   


  
Hunk was wrong. He had not the hots for Keith! No sir. Absolutely not. Keith McMullet of the 80s? Genius drop-out of Advanced Alchemy course with the mannerism of a rogue aristocrat? And those blood-curling horrible fingerless gloves? Horrible, unacceptable.    


  
Little by little, thoughts by thoughts, Lance hunkered down to the leafy carpet and pressed his face completely against his knees, a mournful whimper making its way out of himself.    


  
Everyone at school fell for Keith - wpeddleldn’t? But they fall for him like they fell in love with the sun, admire it from afar and never be brave enough to look at it directly.    


  
Lance’s heart had throbbed - *was throbbing still* - for Keith; since day one, when that traitorous billboard had displayed the two top students for the Advanced and Standard Class. Keith was up there, on the left side, staring straight at the camera with hardly a ghost of a smile, his deep violet eyes scorching Lance’s soul when he gaped for too long. Lance never thought he could come close the sun. And yet, here he was, closer than anyone had ever ventured. This close, he discovered a socially-inept moon, guarded by rays of detached confidence capable of fooling all.    


  
Lance hugged his knees closer and rolled from side to side on the fallen leaves, uncaring of the dirt that might stick to his clothes.    


  
Keith’s grin, his flushed face from the run, his heathen coffee-hating self, his long bangs that cast over his eyes, his tremulous smile at Lance’s alchemy show yesterday at the Geodes, his blissful sigh as he pressed himself closer to the heater like a goddamn cat, and his bright quietness   


  
Lance rolled around until his back hit the tree, cold dew settling into his skin, cooling down his too-fast beating heart and inflamed cheeks. He yowled one last time, burying his face against his chest. A part of him died a pleasant death as he admitted the reality.    


  
He had madly, deeply, fallen for Keith and had not stopped falling still.     
  


* * *

Keith wouldn't look at him in the eyes when he handed him his jacket, freshly washed and expertly transmuted back to its original state, correct down the stitches. The moment he got a hold of his jacket, Keith dropped his hand and jerked away. Lance bit his lips to somehow stop his ears from growing hot, taking his time admiring the jacket to stall the contact he eventually needed to have with Keith. He shook it out and oh so slowly put one arm in, pausing to inhale the pleasant floral smell of softener Keith had put in and marveling at the softness of the fabric. The 98% percent of his mind that wanted to complicate his emotions even more screamed at him that one way or another, he was enjoying Keith's scent that lingered on this jacket, a trace of something really Keith-like and belonged to Keith only. He then put the other arm in, even going as far as smoothing out all the non-existent crinkles and fixing the already ironed collar, and flipped his hood up just so he could. And that was probably all he could do with the jacket that wouldn't raise any questions from Keith.    


  
Keith glanced at him, briefly. And that brief questioning stare and the unconscious head tilt and the bangs sliding were all it took for Lance to choke on his own breath as his mind bemoaned his beauty-loving self. Why must his dumb self fall for this emotionally-constipated guy?    


  
"You should tie your hair back." The words came out of his mouth before passing through the brain-to-mouth filter.    


  
Keith squinted at him then at the bangs that were already falling over his eyes. Lance froze. *What?*    


  
Alarms blared in his mind, a crackling noise a remix with beat of Hunk's "You like Keith" with Pidge's cackling in the background. No, no way, nope, no. That didn't happen. He didn't say that. He was just imagining it in his mind. He accidentally astral projected himself to the next plane of existence where he did say that. He was still in his bed and this was a foreshadowing that he should learn to control his mouth better. A white light oscillated in front of his face. Could it be that he had reached the end of the tunnel where he didn’t have to face this reality? Something poked him on the arm. Lance finally focused on the phone in front of his face, and the two-word text on the screen.    


  
:My hair?:   


  
“Nothing! What's the lesson today?" Lance sped right through Keith's question, leaving him no time to question as he steered the conversation back to the topic they were both familiar with.    


  
Keith frowned, looking ready to continue the hair conversation but refrained. Lance heaved a sigh of relief.    


  
:Remember the 4-7-8 rule? Practice that. Then we'll test your clap alchemy. Don't start until I tell you to.:   


  
Sparks of excitement ignited in his chest and swelled until he felt like bursting with anticipation. He was doing clap alchemy today!    


  
"10-4!" He two-finger saluted and zipped to the spot he always sat, back facing Keith and front facing the mini-basin of flowers. 

  
Lance emptied his mind, discarding all thoughts of Keith into a suitcase/soda bottle and stuck it into a wormhole to the next millennia. Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold 1, 2, 3 4, 5, 6, 7. Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Rinse and repeat. The thumping in his chest jerkily slowed down. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Birds whistled a tune, loving like the record of mom singing a lullaby. Inhale. His heart beat rhythmically. Exhale. Leaves susurrated around him, pleasant like Veronica’s fingers threading through his hair. Inhale and exhale. Dad's bigger than life hug and louder than love cheering when he finally rode his bike unsupported and Marco burrito-rolling them both down the stairs.    


  
Inhale.    


  
_ Happiness. _   


  
Exhale.    


  
_ Family. _   


  
Inhale.   


  
_ His family was everything to him. Hunk, Pidge, Shiro and Keith, too. _ _   
_

  
Lance opened his eyes.    


  
_ Love. _   


  
The sight in front of him blurred, laughter of joy echoed in his memory. Laughter bubbled out of him too. He needed to join in.    


  
The tips of his fingers touched and connected with a string of life. It wound around his hands, twining his hands closer and closer and *closer*    


  
His palms connected.    


  
And he was airborne in a loud flash of light before reality came crashing in with white hot pain down at his ankle.    
  


* * *

  
"Keith, I can walk," Lance said, even though his ankles zapped him with smoldering pain when he accidentally moved them. "C'mon Mullet! Let me walk!"    


  
Silence.    


  
Lance huffed, stuffing his hands into the jacket pockets with too much movement. Underneath him, the bike swayed deeply. His heart froze and dropped to the bottom of stomach; a half formed yelp withered on his lips as he tilted/tethered precariously over one side. Keith grunted to regain balance and pushed forward again, painstakingly slow.    


  
"Hah-," Lance breathed out shakily, his heart was scared too badly to behave normally right after. "K-Keith, lemme walk, pretty please."    


  
In front of him, Keith continued huffing softly, pushing the heavy bike with Lance sitting on it up the slope. He didn't react at all to Lance's umpteenth pleas.    


  
From Keith's silence, Lance got the message loud and clear. Keith wouldn't let him down and walk on his own anytime soon. So he called a temporary truce and hang onto the side of the seat for dear life. They moved at the pace of a jellyfish drifting in whisky, that was they moved slowly and wobbling from side to side.    


  
Lance had always wanted to sit on Keith's bike. He couldn't drive a motorcycle, he just wanted to have that feeling of the hand clutches in his palms and turning the bike this way and that just for the sake of trying.    


  
And right now, he was sitting on it. The seat was soft and comfy enough. The metal side pressed coldly against his legs. His dreams came true partially; except for the fact that Keith was steering and leading the bike on foot while Lance lounged around on it like an useless sacks of royalty banana peels.    


  
Lance didn't like this one bit. Keith had piggybacked him from the clearing to the bike's parking place already. And that was more than enough. From there he could easily call a cab and got home safely, which would cost him two week worth of grocery money but at least he didn't have to bother Keith anymore. But nope! Mullet had deposited him on his bike and promptly steered them both towards the train stop without giving Lance a word to say in this matter.   


  
It would have still been fine if Keith had actually *sat* in front and drove them both home instead of this toil he was undertaking now. Lance zeroed his gaze on that leather-clad back, gently shifting to each unfaltering steps; his breathing, though carefully regulated, stood out amongst all nature sounds, an annoying splinter lodged underneath the skin he could not remove without doctor’s help, or in Lance’s case with Keith at the moment, something knocking Keith out cold so he stopped this meaningless self-assigned mission. His eyes slowly shifted to hair-plastered neck, littered with sweat drops. There, partially revealed from under the thick mane of dark hair, three thick scars running parallel from the base of his head until being hidden again by the collar of the jacket, jagged and whitened with age. Lance felt his guts cold, in horror realization or in anger or something in between. The scars looked painful, it seemed deep and wasn’t treated probably at moment’s notice. Abjectly he wondered if these were the tragic event that had made Keith stopped himself from talking.    


  
"Keith-" Lance started again, an inexplicable guilt eating away at his heart and burping out sympathy for Keith, but he was rudely cut off by a new voice.    


  
"Shut up. Trust me." The voice grouched out, hoarse and broken like a scratched vinyl. It was thick with disuse; the words blurred together and lost all the silent endings. And it came from close approximation to Lance, like very very close to him, right in front of him in fact.    


  
There was no other person in the woods in the immediate vicinity, except for him and Keith. Lance knew his own voice well enough to ascertain that those four words hadn't came out of his mouth unprompted again.    


  
_ So that meant—  _   


  
Keith just spoke. Keith, who was silent and communicated solely via open body movement, rich facial expressions and grammatically perfect texts. Keith, who had suffered from something horrible and painful enough to keep him from talking since who knew when.    


  
Keith just spoke. To him. His brain didn't process anything else except for looping those four words over and over in his mind. When he returned to reality, he was already on the train, seated, with Keith leaning heavily against the transparent panel, breath coming out in audible gasps. He had his eyes closed.    


  
The train slowed to a stop, momentum lurching him dizzyingly to the side. The door slid open to an empty platform; fresh waves of air came crashing in, cooling his overheating mind and bringing him fully back to his senses. He studied Keith, who had his face pressed against the panel as he dozed on undisturbed. Keith looked tired, like truly really tired, his face an ashen shade of white and hair no longer puffy. Lance bit his lips as reproaches crowded around his mind. He should have tried harder to deter Keith from pushing the bike with Lance on it. Better yet, he should have just called a cab while sitting on Keith's motorbike and left!    


  
The train started moving again. Lance craned his neck to look around. There were no other empty seats in this car; Keith was the only one standing. The horrible feeling in his guts crawled up to his chest and hurled its cactus-spiked self straight for his heart. As the train reached a constant speed, Lance grabbed hold of the rod and heaved himself to a stand, or tried to at least, when the train hit a bump and he moved his feet automatically slid wider to steady himself. His ankles lit up in pain, so sudden and blazing it choked a pained gasp out of him and he dropped back down with a thump. He blinked water out of his eyes, more out of abruptness than actual pain. Keith was by his side in an instant, dark swirling eyes boring into his own hazy ones before sliding to his ankles. Keith bit his lips, rather cutely. Lance desperately fanned the electricity sparks away from the sawdust of his feelings. He need to worry about Keith more than his combustible love-sick self right now.    


  
"It's your turn to sit," he mumbled, keeping his eyes solely on his ankles.    


  
He wound his fingers around the metal bar securely. Now that he was used to the constant throb of the ankles, it really wasn't that bad. He could definitely stand. Lance didn't manage to even shift himself on the chair as a pair of hands slapped down on his shoulders, pushing him to stay on his spot. Keith glared murderously at him, his face dangerously closed to his. Lance stopped breathing all together, but his heart beat crazier still, a bronco trying its best to dislodge him from his own lying self and into the orbit of truth. He had fallen deep for Keith. _Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh._   


  
This close, he realized Keith had violet eyes with a tin of deep blue to them, a sea at night, mysterious and calling. This close, Lance could see a faint birthmark on his left cheek, always invisible if he didn't know about it. Lance rolled his eyes skyward and prayed. Keith moved one hand away, and typed something on his phone, judging by the clicking of blunt nails of glass screen.   


  
:Sit: Keith put his phone directly in Lance's sky-ward line of sight    


  
"You sit," Lance argued just for the sake of arguing. He would gladly agree to do what Keith said to get him far away from his personal bubble before his face exploded of overheating.    


  
Then there was silence, too much of it until Lance had to look back down to check. His heart promptly died in its bone cage. Keith was even closer than it was before, and still staring into his eyes, waiting. Lance swallowed thickly and jerked his head forward. Something in Keith's eyes softened at that and he blinked before pulling away. The spell was broken. Lance blinked owlishly. What in the name of fresh hell did take place. Keith meandered back to his place and leant heavily against the transparent panel. He pressed his phone, which still had the words "Sit" written on it, and pointed a finger downwards. Lance just sighed and nodded, crossing his arms across his chest just to let Keith know he was not doing this willingly.    


  
The train reached its next stop. Lance counted in his head. Eight more until his stop. On the platform, a child sat on the laps of his grandpa, contentedly munching on his candy. His grandpa sneakily stole a kiss on top of his head, then one at his cheek that had him giggle non-stop. They laughed together, too, happiness so pure it brought a smile to Lance face even as the tow of them rushed when the train moved forward again. He missed his grandma and grandpa. It had been a while since he last spoken to them. Grandma usually put him on her laps when he was small too as they sat together on the porch, listening to birds song. A not-quite-idea popped up. He wanted Keith to sit but Keith *wanted* him to have the seat so the best of both world was that they both sit. Without even convincing himself that this was a bad idea, Lance arranged his legs so that his thighs were touching and poked Keith on his side, who glanced down at him with question clear in his gaze. Lance patted his legs repeatedly and felt a winning smile stretch across his face as Keith's eyes gradually blown wide in distaste understanding.    


  
Lance gave himself a mental pat on his back. This was the most brilliant idea Lance had ever concocted.    


  
"Sit."   


  
Keith curled his lips up in disgust as his fingers flew over his phone.    


  
:I will NOT sit:    


  
"Oh?" Lance raised an eyebrow. Was that a challenge he heard? If it was, then he was all in. "I will make you sit."   


  
This time Keith ditched his phone and wrote directly on the transparent glass with a finger.    


  
:NEVER:   


  
"Buddy, I will." Lance laughed, heart tap-dancing in his chest at the absolute disgust on Keith's face. Keith was so fun to mess with. "I know you're tired of standing. Come and sit." Lance rubbed circles on his legs and wheezed loudly when Keith turned his back completely towards him.    


  
Laughter just continued out of him; when he thought he had finished, another snort bubbled forward and deprived him of any chance to reel in his breath. He glanced at Keith through teary eyes and promptly bent over wheezing for more air. The confused smile in Keith's face brightened his already good day. It was one of real happiness, unlike his closed-off half-smile Lance had always witnessed. His laughter had drawn curious and annoyed huffs from passengers. He couldn't care less. He was allowed to be happy, no one had the right to make him feel guilty of being happy. Without thinking much about it, Lance had added another operative for himself, to make Keith sit and to listen to his laugh.    


* * *

Lance stared at his phone screen, mentally willing it to light up. Today was a Wednesday night, that meant Keith's succinct message of the time and place of the lesson for Thursday should be arriving anytime soon, the usual "7am in the woods". Lance swore, if someone read it without knowing what was going on, they would think he was a made man and was going to involve in a purge between Famiglias. Keith desperately needed to attend a course in communication via messaging  course led by his truly Professor Lance McClain.    


  
Hunk's overt 'Ahem' snapped him back to the problem at hand.    


  
"Urgh, yes I know, no distraction." Lance pushed his phone between Problem twenty out of twenty, also known as Problem Impossible since he didn't have Alchemy Researchers level of knowledge. This was his last frontier before freedom, he would tackle this and gained that sweet freedom   


  
"'Allura Altea once described in her journal about the energy that governs alchemical activity." Lance read the problem out loud because his mind was incapable of comprehending this question. "'She wrote, 'Earth is a living being, breathing and evolving. It moves around a star; in its belly, molten rocks churn. Earth never stops functioning. Scientists have utilized that eternal power to create the new form of advanced science, aptly named as Alchemy.' That has been the sole written proof of the force behind Alchemy until recently, when an article from a notable publisher has disputed it by adding another form of energy, soul (read annes 4). With your knowledge, discuss.'    


  
Hunk stared at him for a minute before stating what his mind had been screaming for half an hour straight.   


  
"I don't get that." He shook his head. "At all."   


  
"'Discuss,' it says. Discuss!" Lance screeched, dropping his head on the table a little harder than he intended, rattling the various empty cups of coffee to Hunk's dismayed huff. "Since when am I literature student?"   


  
And this wasn't even actual coursework. Iverson had handed it out the day before stating that it was part of the procedure to pick a delegate to escort Lady Allura. And Lance had eagerly latched onto it, certain he could complete it without any hitch. Little did he knew he had to have read over all Lady Allura's published articles and research papers to be able to complete this. But _this_! This-this wasn't even what he should concern himself with!    


  
Lance took a deep breath, the wholesome buttery and spicy cinnamon fragrance invigorating him, and dragged himself back to a proper sitting position. He could do this; he would raze this wall and got himself one step closer to meeting Allura Altea. The scented candles worked wonder. It cleared his mind to a certain degree where his thoughts cleared and his mind stopped despairing. He picked up the pencil, a rod of ice in his fingers, refreshing and mind-wakening and started jotting down ideas.    


  
_Souls as a source of energy for alchemy._ He agreed with this statement. A part of him flared up with hope as his pen ran across the notebook, rapid scritch of productivity. He believed in souls. He _knew_ souls existed. All these out of place veils of white and flashes of blue that had sat at the corner of his eyes, never clear enough for him to see but just the right amount to raise the hairs on his arms. Souls existed. His pen halted mid-word; realization shone a light into his perennial umbra room. He could meet Mom. Happiness bloomed in him, bursting with colors and stories he could tell her when they finally met. He could hug her for the first time in his life, touch her smile for the first time in his life and feel her voice for the first time in his life. He wondered how her hair felt. It must be as soft as cloud and frizzy as popping candy. Her hands must be covered in bread flour and she would smear the powdered digits across his face and smother him in kisses and hugs. Lance clenched his fist around the pen and resumed writing, with more vigor then he had before.  It would be long until he could meet her but at least he knew he could.    


  
Rustling of paper guided his eyes up to Hunk from the hilly lines of words on the paper, who was shuffling all his books and gadgets as far away as possible from the two candles Lance had lit in the middle of the dining table.    


  
"Lance, I love you," Hunk confessed something he had known months ago, eyeing the candles with distrust and apprehension, "but for now I will sell your horribly taken photos to Pidge just so you blow the candles out. I have been working on this models for far too long and wasted so much grey matter on it to risk it burning down."    


  
"You  _ still _ have those photos?" Lance threw both hands in the air, subsequently flinging his pen into the sink with a plonk. He couldn't believe this. Hunk, his best friend, betraying him like this! "You told me you deleted them!"   


  
"I did," Hunk replied with such conviction that Lance fully trusted him. "I deleted them from my phone but I forgot I got the picture folder linked with my school mail."    


  
Lance walked over to the sink, overflowing with uncleaned cups from exam crunch week, too much coffee consumption. He couldn't see his pen. He took a deep breath and plunged his hand amongst the yucky porcelain wares. They desperately needed to clean.    


  
"Just tell me, why of all things to be connected to, your photos are connected to your school email?" Lance blindly felt around the sticky sink, suppressing a shiver that slithered along his arm as his fingers brushed over some oily spongy substance.    


  
"Shay needed to get the prototypes to print them out and I wasn't in town. And she has access to my school email so."    


  
Hunk ended his explanation there. Lance didn't need to see to know the shrug was there. He huffed rattling, threading his fingers through murky water to find the pen. Seriously their sink was tiny, why was it so hard to locate an obvious pen? Hunk and Shay, cinnamon rolls with paprika instead of cinnamon. They were so adorable up until the point Shay started adopting Hunk's bluntness and Pidge's sarcasm and they became a couple descending from the sky just to make Lance's life harder for himself. But still, they were very adorable and Lance never regretted bringing these two awkward smarty pants, passionate scientists together.    


  
"The prototype," Lance asked absently, his fingers getting poked with a pointy something that could be the tip of his pen. "Is that the thing for Keith?"    


  
"Yeah." Hunk agreed before making an "ohh" noise like some gossippy old ladies that made Lance wished he hadn't asked that. "You care for Keith. Just admit that you love him."    


  
Lance dropped the pen again into the sink and yelped breathlessly as he plunged his hand elbow deep into the water and dislodged multitude of precariously balanced eating ware.    


  
"I-" he cut himself shortly and grumbled under his breath even as his face heated up to uncomfortable degree. "Of course I care. I don't need my only tutor ditching me again." He cared a lot actually, after Keith seeing him off at his very apartment with too sweaty face and too rapid breathing two days ago.    


  
Hunk didn't say anything after that, for which he was thankful so he could fish out his pen and not have his fingers spasming sporadically with all the emotions his heart was reeling from. Lance found it at last, beneath a toppled dish, and washed it out with soap. The chair cracked ominously when he sat back down and attempted to pick at the loose end his thoughts ended while writing the ideas. Hunk's mouse clicking restarted too and they fell back into the focused silence. It lasted long enough to calm his heart, and allow him to finish the rough draft of his essay. This time, when Hunk's frequent clicking stopped, Lance was prepared for whatever soul searching question Hunk was going to bombard him.    


  
"Keith hasn't texted yet?" Hunk swiveled around to look at the eerily quiet phone, rubbing his chin with two fingers.    


  
No, he has not. Lance scrambled for his phone, almost toppling the candles. He ignored Hunk's horrified dash to the patched sofa, laptop and paper perfectly balanced on his head and switched his phone on. He did receive a text from Keith. It was the content that he wasn't expected.    


  
:Lesson canceled. Don't come:   


* * *

Lance rapped his knuckles on the door to Keith and Shiro's apartment at exactly 7am, the pinging sting did nothing to deter him from the high tap frequency. His frustration had boiled over its constraint and he needed explanation. Keith just upped and left. Again!    


  
Behind him a door creaked open before snapping with an annoyed click. Normally he would care, but not now. He would probably sneaked some biscuits from the coffeeshop and gave Keith and Shiro's neighbor a basket when he finally calmed down enough to think his action through carefully. Definitely not right now.    


  
"Open up, Mullet. You can't ditch me again! I have a lot riding on you right now," Lance babbled, looking heavenward. "You can't just up and cancel the whole lessons thing again I have exactly two weeks until the event and I need to get as much training in as I-"    


  
His voice drowned out all other sound, he didn't notice the thumping of feet on the other side of the door, nor the door flinging open, nor Shiro standing there, with a half harried, half scared frown. It was only when his knuckles rapped against cloth on a warm body that Lance drew his eyes down and hopped back with a shout.    


  
"Lance, what're you doing here this early?" Shiro shook his head, his puffed up bangs swaying with the motions. "Class started at 11am today."   


  
In the darkened hallway, with the only source of light a tiny sky well on the very top floor raining in white strips of overcast sky inside. It did jack shit at illuminating the steps and even shittier job at shedding some lights on Shiro's expression. _Though,_ Lance thought, his hands unconsciously going for the back of his neck as he looked at his shoes, _the tone wasn't really that warm._ It was laced with exasperation and an undertone of, unexpectedly enough, shimmering worry.   


  
"Uhm, the lesson and Keith uh-" Lance stammered before cutting himself off completely. He scratched the back of his legs so fast if someone said smoke was rising from his pants' legs, he would believe them.   


  
In front of him, in the dark hallway and the equally unlit apartment, Shiro's silhouette drooped like soggy paper. He let out he soft sigh.    


  
"He forgot to tell you?" He asked and, without waiting for Lance to reply, continued, worry laced every syllable. "Keith got sick last night so he couldn't come today."    


  
Lance's arms dropped like dead twigs by his side. Keith? Sick? The headstrong mullet that was too headstrong to listen to reasons and logic?    


  
"What?" Lance breathed out, shocked.    


  
But it was Keith, the infallible star everyone looked up to.  Keith was the walking epitome of perfection and strength. He couldn't be sick-. Sickness couldn't, shouldn't, touch him.    


  
"He's okay now." Shiro reassured, probably misinterpreting his shock as worry - was he really just shocked? "I brought his fever down last night. You can come in but he's a-"    


  
Lance shoved himself inside the apartment, not even letting Shiro finish. He needed to *see*, to *ascertain*. The entire place smelt of mildew, sickness and a bitter frustration of medicine. Curtains drawn tight together, only letting in a webbed layer of light. Lance wrinkled his nose and looked around. The apartment looked even less neat then the last time he had been here, cups and various towels scatters on the central dining table. He was about to go to his left, where the two doors that led to Keith's and Shiro's room located when he noticed a curled up mound in the middle of the carpeted living room floor, faintly wheezing. Keith was lying there, curled underneath the coffee table, so small and somehow so lonely it broke Lance's heart into million pieces. Shiro rushed in, accidentally crashing agaisnt his shoulder. He was by Keith's side in a blink, his big form crawling underneath the table making a comical sight but Lance felt no humor within himself. He stared ahead as Keith whimpered hoarsely, so fragile Lance was afraid if he disturbed the air Keith could break.    


  
"C'mon Keith, let's get you onto the sofa." Shiro coaxed, *pleaded*, shaking Keith's so small - why was he suddenly so small - form.    


  
Lance moved before his mind was conscious of the action. He kneeled on the other side of Keith, pressing his face down onto the rough carpet. It tingled his cheek. Keith's hot, feverish breath stole all the air from Lance. In the limited light, Keith looked horrible up close. His lips chapped and unnaturally green, hair smeared across his forehead and his eyes gained three years worth of insomnia.    


  
"Mullet," Lance whispered, fearing any louder he could injure Keith, "Sleep somewhere more comfortable, okay?"    


  
Keith cracked open his eyes, a reflecting glimmer of too bright water. He moved his mouth slightly, wheezing brokenly.    


  
Lance breathed with his mouth.    


  
"I know you understand me, Keith. Sleep on the sofa, yeah?" Frustration and fear piled up in him. He had times and times looked after his sick nephews but the frustration at the inability to share their pain never seemed to die away. It stretched to even unimaginable size for Keith.    


  
Keith's glassy, half-lidded gaze locked on his and Lance managed a tremulous smile as he nodded encouragingly. Keith turned away, half hiding his face on the carpet. And he didn't move. The frustration in Lance spilled hot lava on a war path, stopped by flimsy cling film. He contemplated joining force with Shiro to bodily move him when Keith let out a soft grunt as he got his arms underneath him and unsteadily dragged himself to the sofa, a furniture literal arm's length away. He weakly heaved himself up and almost slipped. Shiro was quick to step in and helped him got onto it. Lance stood there, petrified while his heart twisted harshly in his chest. Keith let out a rattling cough, hiding his face in his chest with abandoned movement. His eyes were still half opened. Lance hastily bent underneath the table to drag out his blanket, staunched in debility and everything else that wasn't Keith-like. He tucked the edge around Keith just like Dad always did all those years ago. Lance hissed in sympathy when his thumbs brushed over Keith's aflame cheeks. Keith fought his hands and the blanket away weakly, arms trembling.   


  
"Mullet, you're sick. Don't fight me." Lance determinedly tuck the blanket snuggly around Keith's back, ignoring the complaint and stubbornness.    


  
Keith waved his hands again and turned around, rolling the blanket around himself in choking knots.    


  
"Keith," Lance grouched, dragging a hand over his face repeatedly Could this guy listen to sense just for once in his life? "I am hel-"   


  
Lance cut himself off, noticing a very deliberate movement Keith was doing with his arm. Keith moved his right arms in repeated clockwise circles on his chest, fist closed tight. He was signing something. Lance frowned, shaking up all the knowledge of that very first lesson they took to make sense of the motion. Unlike Keith the select, who had the entire sign language alphabet remembered in five minutes, Lance needed time and practice to remember only the stuffs that were actually taught that day. Fortunately enough, he had memorized all the casual greetings. And that circular motion Keith was still doing was a sorry.    


  
"What even are you sorry for?" Lance muttered, willingly allowing an exasperated smile catch his lips and dragged the blanket straight under Keith's chin.    


  
Keith jerked around again, coughing, hands still resolutely circling.    


  
"I forgive you." Lance breathed, barely a whisper but Keith heard it anyway, for he ceased his hands and stopped fighting the blanket Lance was trying so hard to rearrange.    


  
Keith mustered up a faint smile, snuggling into the soft fold. Lance unconsciously smiled, reaching to brush the bangs behind his ears, away from his eyes. Just like what Veronica did when they still shared a room. He didn't jerk away when Keith leaned into his touch, concrete-boiling temperature against Lance's night dew cold's tips. He kept on brushing the hair away even though all the hair was already tucked safely behind Keith's ears, a tranquility he hadn't experienced in a while, save the ragged breathing that managed to ground him back to a rather bleak and unwanted reality.    


  
"I'll go get some cold towels," Shiro announced and stood up, so suddenly Lance jumped on his place besides Keith and momentarily halt his brushing. Keith moaned breathlessly in disapproval and Lance hurriedly resumed, ignoring the way his cheeks seemed to be infected with Keith's high temperature.    


  
"Yes, umm yes,” he stuttered as Shiro nodded and swiftly stood up. He had completely forgotten that Shiro was there.    


  
The lights in the bathroom lit up and sizzling sound of running water looped around the enclosed apartment. Keith dozed on undisturbed, breathing cutely through his mouth. Lance leant down, and quick as fleeting sunlight in winter, placed a peck on Keith's forehead. He didn't so much as twitch. Lance assumed his straight backed postures, his sensible mind howling from the crevice it had been locked up in, in celebrations or extreme rage Lance had no idea but he chose to enjoy the moment.    


  
Shiro came back with several wrung out small cloths in his hand. Lance took one from him and gingerly placed it on Keith's forehead. A scratchy relieved sigh that he heard from Keith was like raindrops on window to his ears, calming and reassuring somehow. They stayed in silence for a while, watching Keith until Shiro wedged into the atmosphere with a hardly audible question.    


  
"Thank you, Lance," Shiro said, covering his mouth as he yawned widely. "You can go home if you want."    


  
Lance shook his head, eyes never leaving Keith, attentive for any change in his breathing. He knew enough about fever to realize Keith had a sore throat that came with this bout of sickness. Something tapped his shoulders. Lance glanced up to see Shiro tilting his head down at his ankles. Lance gave them a twist; they were still stiff and spasmed unexpectedly if he overstretched them.    


  
"They're okay," he whispered as Shiro dropped down to inspected his ankles with professional eyes.    


  
"I can do another medical circle around 10 if you want." Shiro turned his ankles right then left, studying it with the eye of a soon-to-be medical alchemist.   


  
Lance was quick to shook his head. Shiro had done enough for him already when Keith took him to his apartment and placed him on top of the coffee table and pulled Shiro out of his room to make him heal Lance. lance had argued, of course he did and tried to slid down from the table and walked himself home because he was perfectly fine and Keith had done enough already. He didn't want to bother Shiro too because of his own stupidity.    


  
"I'm fine, really." Lance shifted his ankles out of Shiro's hold, mustering a bright smile. A true smile if he had anything to say. he was very happy that he could walk normally and not have to wait for a week at least. God forbid if he needed to take a bus everyday for a week to school. That would cause him a week of not having cakes at Geodes, where, as a matter of fact he didn't need to pay but he still wanted to tip generously.    


  
Shiro glared at him from under his hair flop. The russet light from the bathroom caught his eyes in a dangerous and threatening flash. Lance gulped. He never knew Shiro could glare even scarier that Keith. Now he knew where Keith got that smoldering glare from.    


  
"Don't argue. I don't need any more sick people on my hands." Shiro said sternly, taking out his pre-drawn alchemy patches and slapped two of them on either side of Lance's ankles. The patches felt like silk or satin, coldly flowing and fluttering but they did not have the shine to it like silk or satin normally possessed. They looked like white denim. Lance didn't have any more chance to question as white lights picked up in intensity and he quenched his eyes shut. They all said how lunar eclipse could blind and never to stare directly at it; how the never mentioned to always close your eyes even when there were sunglasses over your eyes. Alchemical lights were the purist known light, so potent it slid through the cracks of his eyelids and scorched his eyeballs. The lights thankfully died down quickly and Lance blinked tears out of his eyes. The throb on his ankles had gone completely. As Shiro flapped the patches out of wrinkles and stuffed them back into his pockets, Lance grabbed his left foot with both hands and bent them towards his body as far as it was physically possible. No pain at all.    


  
"Thanks, Shiro." He smiled widely, voice a bit louder than intended.    


  
Keith shifted under the blanket. Lance stilled completely, despairing. Keith needed sleep. He didn't mean to wake him up! Luckily, Keith just pulled the cover up to his brows, breathing uninterrupted.    


  
"Don't mention it," Shiro said after a minute of stillness, "I should be thanking you instead."   


  
"Why?" Lance turned his eyes back to Shiro, who had the corner of his lips quirk up and his expression softening like cotton ball as he looked at sleeping Keith. Lance shook his head and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "You don't need to. Keith's sick and I think I can lend some help. And I mean, I did make a ruckus at 7 am so I don't think you should be tha-"   


  
"For that, too. But thank you, Lance, for drawing Keith out of his self-imposed aloneness."    


  
Shiro grinned, actually grinned, like a happy kid being given a glitter ice-cream, unadulterated gladness     


  
Lance's words died on the tip of his tongue. He . . . didn't know what to say. What should he say to that? It was Shiro that led him to Keith. It was Shiro that helped Keith, he was just the correct answer Shiro had been searching for to the problem named 'Keith'.   


  
"I didn't do. . .anything, really." Lance picked at his fingers. Oh god he was usually more verbose than this. But he couldn't deny the warmth that spread across his chest, nor the way he felt lighter somehow, like he had finally found himself something he could be proud of. He could be the friendly face to Keith, somewhen Keith could trust. *And love,* his mind whispered. Lance gently choked the thought.   


  
"Trust me, you did enough." Shiro stood up. he took a new cloth from the bowl of freshly washed cloth and replaced the one on Keith's forehead with that. "By the way, keith told me what happened yesterday with your clap alchemy."   


  
Lance perked up. The fall had been quite a hard one. His right behind still bruised from that. He couldn't really sit properly but he digressed. He could definitely handle this.    


  
"You were too in tune." Shiro continued, pushing the blanket below Keith's head and pressing the back of his hands against his neck to feel the temperature. "And when you clapped your full hands together like this-" Shiro demonstrated with his own hands, "-you accidentally created a highway of ten lanes for far more traffic energy than you can control. Keith proposed you do this-   


  
Shiro drew his clapped hands apart, until only the very tips of fingers were still touching. Lance mirrored it.    


  
"This way, only a village road is opened for energy, a narrow pathway so you can control the traffic until you're ready to try complete pathway again. Now then, school starts in two hours. I will not stand having you skip class." Shiro crossed his arms across his chest, assuming that stern professory posture.    


  
Lance gulped, carefully easing himself to a stand to not to disturb Keith, torn. He didn't want to leave Keith, not when he was sick and dead to the world like this, but with Shiro, an actual teacher from school telling him not to ditch class, he truly had no choices but to leave for school. He bit his lips and stared at Keith's half-hidden face with the white towel covering his forehead. His feet tapping grew in frequency. Keith needed attention around the clocks. And Shiro-   


  
"Don't worry, Lance. I take a day off today." Shiro answered the question for himself. "It's only 12 days until Lady Altea visits. You need all the knowledge you can get."    


  
The boulder of worry evaporated from his chest. His shoulders eased.    


  
"Don't need to remind me," he shuffled to the door and slid his feet into the shoes whose knots never required undoing. The boulders of stress ghostly patted his back. He could *feel* them drawing closer, waiting for that moment when he accidentally dipped a toe into doubt to bushwhack him.    


  
"Yo u'll be alright. I have full trust in  Keith's capabilities and your talent."   


  
Shiro should be a motivational speaker. His words had booted the stress to kingdom come; not destroyed, just somewhere out of sight out of mind and Lance couldn't ask for more. He opened the door slowly, careful of any creaks and wedged himself out, flicking two fingers away from his forehead in a salute to Shiro and closed it shut.    
  


* * *

  
Iverson speechified at the front of the class, on and on and on. He screamed something, slapping his hand on the board before slamming them down one more time on his table. The girl he sat next to, whose name he never bothered to remember, jumped and dislodged her hodgepodge pot of color chalks onto the floor with her elbow. She scrambled to pick them up.    


  
Lance bent down, too, sweeping the small pieces into his palms. He wasn't at all conscious of his action. Worry for Keith churned his mind, swirling soupy tornado. The girl nodded in thanks, her golden platinum phoenix hairpin dangling on the top of her head. Lance nodded back out of habit than actually conscious that he was nodding.   


  
Iverson banged a shoe in front of a poor soul sitting at the very front and yelled, "Transmute, now!"   


  
Lance laid his head on the table, looking down at his shoes. The white rubber part was smeared with mud from that rainy day, he should get those rude smudged wiped when he got home and still remembered about them. Lights appeared, then died away. Deeming it safe to look at the air around again, Lance dragged his head up, only to have dirt flying into his nostrils. He wheezed, sneezing at the black boot right in front of his face. Iverson loomed over him with banana patterned-socked feet, a contradictory piece of clothing to his overall severe demeanors. Lance pulled his hand up in a lazy wave.    


  
He w as royally going to pay for this later into the semester.    


  
"McClain," Iverson said his name like a curse word, both of his hands gripping the edge of the table his fingertips went white. "Transmute."    


  
Lance sighed thunderously, something he would never dare do if he was breathing the same hair as him but now his mind was too occupied with Keith's wellbeing to care. He put his hands together, almost starting to guide the energy when he realized what he was doing. _No, not yet,_  he thought, picking up a minuscule piece of chalk on the table and sketching a physical circle. _This is the bang he needed for the event._  He must not spoil. Without any clear image in mind, Lance slapped his hands down. He had no idea what's going to turn out of this. He might pay dearly for this, a clear intention was required for every transmutation in action. Imagine Keith knowing he transmuted something without a goal in mind, Keith would probably kicked his ass right off a cliff, right after giving him a flashing kiss. Keith kissing him would be a good way to go. But if he kissed Keith first and got punched instead, he could still live with it but then again- Reality hit Lance with the force of Keith ramming his bike directly into his elbows. He slid off the chair on his own, disconnected the energy by removing his hands and halted the transmutation half way between breaking down and rearranging.    


  
He didn't just think that. That was him disassociating, his molecules and cells conjuring up the brain cells of forbidden thoughts, those were not him, not at all. Above, Iverson intoned in the flattest tone Lance had ever heard him in, a bone chilling saw toothed fork chafing at his spinal column so badly he found moving up would be laborious toll   


  
"I hope I don't need to remind you that the only reason you're here is that the top student in this class had a discipline issue and flunked out. Don't follow in his footstep. Dismiss!" Then he moved away, not bothering to take whatever mess of goo Lance had, or rather had not, transmuted.    


  
Around him, furniture moved and scraped around as chattering cropping up again, somewhat more muted, or that just him, dizzy and seeing a grey web over everything. He knew who Iverson was talking about. Keith was the only good, and daring, enough to leave a school that guaranteed a sparkling future. Lance had hated Keith, of course he had; talented people never understood how hard he had fought and worked to get a single strand of hair into A3. But the longer he stayed around Keith, the deeper he got Keith. Keith wasn't someone to walk away without a reason, he was goal oriented and he knew his strength. Keith never said and Lance never asked, but he knew enough to presume Keith dropped out because something had clashed with his ideal. Lance was confident to stake Geodes and yielded triple the amount that that had something to do with Iverson himself.    


  
Knowing did nothing to ease up the scorch though. Lance slid out from underneath the table and slung his bag over his shoulders. He resolutely refused to look at the pile of gooey mash Iverson's boot had become on the table. His feet dragged across the ground, little scratch that eased up his mind but annoyed everyone that walked past him. The boulder rolled back into its nest and welded itself there, a prevalence presence of uselessness that stared at him every waking second. His feet led him back to Keith's apartment building, Lance stood there, heart heavy, contemplating whether he should go in or not until the need to see Keith still alive and breathing took hold.    


  
A faint, out of place noise pulled his awareness back. Lance stilled, squinting to drown out the noise of cars running and the din of people chattering. That was a noise not supposed to be there. He looked around, trying to locate the source with his sight alone. There wasn't anything out of place at the first glance, just people walking by and car whooshing past constantly, a few plastic bags of trash at at lamp post, and a soggy carton box. He shook his head, sighing. He lacked so much sleep that he was hallucinating Keith kissing him and ghost noise. What's next? Allura Altea dating him? He managed to put one feet on the step when he heard it again. for sure this time. It was a weak, floating in and out of his hearing. Lance swiveled around, there was a puppy, in pain and calling for help. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing, 4-7-8 just like he had done for 5 weeks straight. He heard it again, this time clearer and more definite and came from his left.    


  
_ There! _   


  
The plastic bag rustled and a heart-wrenching yip called him to move. Gingerly, with only two fingers, he undid the air-stopping knot and pulled the plastic aside. Right there, hidden among a myriad of oily brown paper curled a ball of sandy fur with closed eyes. The puppy whimpered excitedly, struggling to put its feeble legs underneath them. It tumbled sideways and landed on Lance's waiting hand. It didn't stop tipping or trying to stand up to lean its damp, fur-matted tiny body against his hand. Lance decided his next course of action spitfire. With careful hands, he lifted the puppy -- a strange puppy with tail as fluffy as a squirrel -- out of the bag and held it tight to his chest, nose-blocking sewer smelling fur be damned. He took three steps in one and barged quietly into the apartment, well remembering that Keith was sick as a not-fiddle. An muffled, familiar eek followed when he entered. Hunk sat on the floor, hand hovering above his chest. Pidge had her small hand slapped over his mouth. They sat beside Keith, who was once again sleeping on the carpet, but thankfully this time under a blanketed low table and not the barren coffee one.    


  
"Lance!" Pidge hissed out his name like it burnt her tongue. Lance felt mildly offended, his name shouldn't be said with hatred, ever. "Quiet."   


  
She jerked a head towards the sleeping Keith, dislodging her glasses from their resting place on top of her head.   


  
Lance toed off his shoes with unsteady legs and tripped over a pair of boots. He managed to catch himself but his legs went down with a thunderous thump. Three pairs of eyes immediately zeroed on the mop of black hair bloomed on the floor, his, Pidge's and Hunk's. They collectively stopped breathing when a deep sigh escaped from among the fold of blanket. Lance was prepared to do a kowtow and sequestered himself to the edges of the world, but Keith merely pulled his head completely underneath the blanket and disappeared.    


  
When he deemed the coast was clear and Pidge and HUnk were no nearer to eviscerate him on the spot, he scream-whispered, talking over the puppy's weakening whimper. “Hunk, help!”   


  
Hunk put down his pad and walked over, sideways crab-like one step at a time, apprehension stealing his expression.   


  
“What is that? Is it food? Is it going to explode in my face like that one time the dough mixer dumped half mixed dough on my face? I swear I trust only food and it betrayed me. I can no longer believe in this world-“   


  
“No!” Lance cut off Hunk’s rant with a muted screech. “It’s a puppy! It's hurt!”   


  
Hunk threw his hands above his head. His screech was even shriller than Lance’s. “I don’t know what to do about a hurt puppy!”    


  
“And I know something?!” Lance looked down at the ball cupped around his chest, movements weaker and weaker still. His heart went out for it. “Hunk! Do something!”   


  
“I don’t know! Take her to the vet?”   


  
“Give me your bank details then, cause I’m too broke for a medical bill”    


  
“No way! And you think I’m not broke!” Hunk clawed at his cheeks in a frenzy.    


  
“What should I do then!” Lance all but said calmly. He danced on the spot, biting his lips, looking around the apartment for something, anything that could inspire him for an idea to help.    


  
Nothing was inspiring. The floor, the fridge the lamp, nothing! He was ready to run back out onto the street and bludgeon the first pedestrian into taking both him and  the puppy to the vet when Pidge, whose steps were so quiet he jumped into the air when he noticed her presence in front to him, gently took the puppy into her own hands by the scruff of its neck and inspected it over the glare of her glasses. Lance held his breath, waiting for her verdict.    


  
“Malnourished and very dirty but nothing's serious,” Pidge declared, holding the puppy close to her chest again. “Check the drawer in the washing room for some saline drop for the eyes while I give her a bath. And FYI Lance, puppy here is a dessert fox."     


  
She walked into the bathroom, shushing softly when the pup-fox, apparently- let out a stream of whimpering.    


  
“And get some milk too. For both Keith and the fox.” Was her final words before she kicked the door to the bathroom closed softly.    


  
Running water jolted him back into sense as Hunk tapped his shoulders and ran out of the house with a sense of purpose, so he too kicked himself into gears and slid into the small room with the washing machine and a white narrow drawer. Lance slid each one open. The first have a glass bottles, cough drops, nose spray, the second spilled over with a myriad of band aids, empty hydrogen peroxide antiseptic bottles, cotton balls and tight rolls of gauze. Something told him this drawer was predominantly used by Keith. The eyedrop located at the very back of the third drawer, new and completely unopened. He studied the small carton box. The expiry date wasn't until next year so all was well. Lance steeped out of the room. Pidge was still hard at work with fox-bathing, yipping mixing in with the sizzling sound of running water. He never knew she had veterinarian knowledge. Hunk wasn't back yet, so Lance sat himself down next to the low, subsequently next to Keith, whose feet were the only part visible of himself. Lance pulled the blanket over to cover the exposed skin and lifted the blanket up a bit to let air come in. Altea, how could Keith sleep with blanket over his face like this?    


  
Finally the sound of water cut off. Pidge opened the door and stepped out, steam spilling our of the room like a sauna, the fox bundled up in a roll in a white blanket. lance hurriedly held the fox for her when he was offered the bundle. It was warm and soft. Pidge had cleared out all the crust at the edges of her eyes. The fox eyed him cutely with large eyes, her huge ears twitching quizzingly. She yipped when he stopped drying. Lance "shh-ed" quietly, drying her with more vigour. Keith was still asleep and she was making way too much noise. Pidge showed her steamed glasses to him, and went around his back to take hold of a piece of his shirt and wiped her glasses with it. Lance let her. He knew his shirt was the perfect material for glass-wiping. With that done, she took the fox and the eyedrop from him, gently peeling the eye open wider as she dropped two drops into each eye. The fox squirmed weakly against her hold but Pidge held on, making sure that all the liquid stayed inside the eyes before rubbing the dry edge of the towel against the edge of her eyes. Hunk came back with three cartons of milk and a pack pf puppy formula milk Altea knew where he got from.    


  
"Heat up the milk for me. One for Keith, too. Goddamn Keith hadn't had anything in the day." Pidge instructed, patting the edge of the blanket where the only tuft of hair of Keith was visible. "Keith, wake up. I'm not kidding, you need to have something in your stomach."   


  
In response to her request, Keith just coiled around himself even more. Now he completely disappeared underneath the table, not a single strand of hair could be seen.    


  
"I'm not joking Keith. Don't make me call Mom over. You *know* she will drive you back home," Pidge said flatly.    


  
That was the chillest threat Lance had ever listened to. He was sure Keith wouldn't care about that at all. But lo and behold, Keith huffed and coughed, poking his head out from under white blanket. He glared blearily at something in his line of sight, eyes foggy and unfocused.    


  
"Now would you look at that," Pidge satired, "He's alive."    


  
Keith just grunted, and with difficulty, eased himself out from under the table and sat up fully, though he swayed like a hanging rock in a tornado. Pidge poked him on his knees with her toes, inclining her head at the meager cup of milk Hunk had just put on the table. The glass almost slipped out of his hand when he took it. Lance made an abated move to reach his hand under it, not entirely how much his hands could have saved the carpet had Keith had actually dropped the cup. The tall glass was only half filled with milk and Keith had to take a breather half way to finish it all. He then blinked tiredly leaning against the side of the table and breathed raggedly. Lance winced for Keith. Being sick was never fun, he was never going to take all the days that he was healthy and didn't feel like he was breathing out his life force with every single breath for granted again. Hunk also set down a dish in front of the fox when Pidge deemed her dry enough to set her down. The fox pawed wobbly towards the dish and almost tumbled when her legs ungainly hit the edge. Pidge held her back just in time as Hunk pushed the dish a bit to the right. When she finally seemed like she got her feet under her, Pidge released her and let her lap up milk on her own.    


  
The peace lasted for mere seconds before Hunk and Pidge exchanged determined look and studied a dozy, out of it Keith. Lance felt very much out of the loop, but he knew if he asked and they answered, he wouldn't understand a clue. Those were the looks of a grand mechanic, robotic, science-y discovery, a spark of technical understanding that would take him eight hours to a five minute long explanation. Hunk leant back to take Pidge's bag carefully laid against the leg of the table and picked out one thing after another, looking for some specific thing. Pidge glared in disagreement as one by one, stuff got removed from her bag.    


  
"Hunk, if you remove my journal again I swear I'll-"   


  
"Found it!" Hunk declared quietly, raising a flat metal circlet that had curves at both ends.    


  
Lance made a small "Oh". He recognized that, it was the thought-speech translation gear Hunk and Pidge had been working on. In unprompted unison, the three of them turned to Keith, who had dozed off while still sitting upright. His hair swept completely to the right, flicking away rhythmically with every puff. Lance fought to stop his hand from reaching up and played with the hair again, but Keith seemed pretty dead to the world, maybe he wouldn't notice if he tried to put on the head piece. Lance kept his eyes on Keith, extending his hand to Hunk, who proved to be his best friend, understood and put the head piece in his palm. The metal warmed up the moment he touched it, a magnetic tingling spreading along his fingers. He leant in close to Keith and stopped breathing; his legs shook with vibrations from an unseeable loudspeaker blasting bass at max volume. _Almost there_. He could not falter now, not while he had slid the circlet halfway around Keith's head. Keith didn't move an inch, sleeping soundly on. The lack of air burned his lung. _That's it, that's it, keep dozing sleepy sickly Keithy cat- Got it!_   


  
The circlet clicked into place, rounded edges fitting snugly around his ears. Keith jerked his head up dazedly, Lance snapped back into his spot like a stretched out spring, heart beating widely in his chest. Keith must not find out about this. or he would fight them tooth and nails to not wear it. Thankfully, Keith didn't do anything more than taking a shuttered breath and inched back under the table-blanket. Lance waited until Keith's breathing slowed down to share a two way high five.    


  
"You got Keith to wear it." Shiro peeked his head in from the entrance door, a tired but triumphant smile on his face when Hunk gave a thumbs up and Pidge smirked cockily. Lance rested his chin on the gap between his thumbs and fingers and winked. "Great job team."   


  
He put his hands up in the air, celebration cleared in every line of his drawn out face. Lance waved his arm in the air for a high-five. Shiro complied, walking towards them to press his punch against Lance's open palm and his palm against Pidge's raised fist.    


  
"This joke is still on?" Pidge lifted an eyebrow as Shiro turned towards Hunk and pressed both fists to Hunk's double fives.    


  
"Oh, it never dies." Shiro laughed softly, very much aware of Keith sleeping if his gaze dropping to the low table was anything to go by, and padded over to the sink. “It is ad infinitum."   


  
"Wait what? What joke?" Hunk voiced his confusion.    


  
Shiro snorted into his drink as Pidge pushed her glasses up with a middle finger, in a sense that meant business.    


  
"That awkward moment when you go for a fist bump and the other for a high five. These two-," she moved her fingers between Shiro and the table, "-decided to eternalize it. Yeah, welcome to the birthplace of high-fist. And has anyone seen the fox?"   


  
Lance jolted, The spot around the dish of milk was glaringly empty of one mini-sized fox. He swiveled round, attempting to locate one fluff obvious ball of fur. Hunk imitated a soft yip and crawled on all four on the floor. Strange, the fox was so weak she could hardly walk, where could she have gone to? He was ready to believe that everything was merely a deja vu when suddenly Keith extended a hand from beneath the table, a very sandy and small fox was pushed out. The moment Keith took his hand back, she yipped noisily and tumbled after the arm. She wiggled into the heavy blanket, whimpering incessantly only for Keith to edge her out again. Lance crossed his ankles, leaning forward eagerly as he watched the unequal battle of tenacity unfold. Keith pushed the fox out; the fox crawled in, with more strength than before after having some milk to power her system. Hunk had whipped out his phone and was recording. Lance sent a wink in his direction and got a confirmation wink in return. He was never going to let Keith live this down.    


  
This went on until the sixth time the fox crawled in, a wheezy thunderous sigh could be heard from the table as Keith crawled out from under, hair in disarray around the fitted circlet. He took two drunken haphazard steps towards the sofa and landed on it with zero grace and poise, so unlike his sure-footed normal self. His breathing started to slow again as he fell back to sleep. Lance had thought the warm place war was over when the kitten once again wiggled out from underneath the heavy fold of blanket. She yipped for help when her back legs stuck underneath. Pidge lifted it a bit for her to stumbled out. And made her way straight for the sofa. Lance bit his tongue to stop a laugh bubbling out of him. Looked like Keithy cat had found himself a tail. Lance lent the fox a hand when she seemed unable to climb up onto the treacherous sofa wall. Her fur was soft to his touch and smelt faintly of apple peppermint. He deposited her on top of Keith's chest. The fox made her way for the crook of his neck. Keith opened his eyes, tch-ed and went back to sleep. Lance couldn't help himself this time. He took out his phone to snap a picture before draping a blanket over the two and stood back to admire. Keith exuded peacefulness now, something Lance never thought he could associate with the fiery, undaunted presence of Keith. Lance breathed in that peacefulness and lived in it, until Shiro steered him back with an offer he would never decline.   


  
"Since Keith is out of commission for at least the next two tutor session," he said when Lance cocked his head to the side to listen, "Lance, if you agree, I could give you some lessons in alchemy theory."   


  
Quicker than Hunk could chop onions, Lance had seated himself opposite of Shiro at the dining table.    


  
"I'm ready to study."   


* * *

  
"Run that through me again."   


  
"Every transmutation starts with probing, a study in composition, followed by breaking down before restructuring." Lance recited in a single breath before adding. "This is first year theory. Why are we studying this?"   


  
"There's no such thing as too much preparation." Shiro made a tick on his paper, nodding to himself.    


  
"You sound like Keith." Lance slouched on his chair, blowing air lengthily. "He wrote and I quote 'Don't blame me if you sleepwalk at night and somehow slap your hands together and blow yourself through the ceiling. Stay prepared.'"    


  
Shiro huffed, faking annoyance even though his eyes drifted jokingly back to Keith, who was amazingly still asleep. "You mean Keith sounds like me."   


  
Lance shrugged and yawned tiredly. Altea, his mind was overflowing with theory and transmutation laws. He could use some break. With an approval nod from Shiro, he left his chair and sidled up to Hunk and Pidge, who had commandeered the low table and were sharing a pair of earphones between them and looking intently at Pidge's pad. Hunk frowned and shook his head. Pidge moved one bar out of six up and made the face of someone just had lemon squeezed into their mouth.    


  
"School project?" Lance leant closer to look. The bars seemed like they were for sound system of some kind.    


  
"Keith's voice." Pidge shook out her ear phone and jammed it into his ear with far too much roughness. She ignored his hiss and slapped a hand repeatedly against her ear. "I'm telling you Hunk, let's just go with AI's voice we synthesized for Rover last semester."    


  
"Let's not." Hunk shivered. "Rover's voice gave me nightmare for weeks because you decided to add low frequency sound."    


  
"It was for science." Pidge argued, dislodging the the pad when she sat on her haunch to draw eye level with Hunk. "At least I didn't single modulate. *Everyone* knows double modulating gives better protection and stability."   


  
"No, single modulating is life. Double modulating is just a waste of pushing keyboard."    


  
Pidge shot something back but Lance's attention had shifted from their jargonized argument and focused on all the bars on the floor. He pressed the volume up and shifted the bars around. A mechanical male voice said hello every time he pressed "Test". He frowned. That hello was much too low for Keith, so he shifted the tonal voice up and moved the volume scale a smudge to the left. Keith's normal volume should be around this. If he didn't count the hoarseness, Keith had a fairly high-pitched noise with a note of deepness to it, like the plonk of water droplet falling into water. He moved and switched the bars around, ears wide for all the subtle note that he knew Keith was capable of making. He flipped the tonal bar for a pitch one and scrubbed it, until something familiar in that hello sparked his auditory memory.    


  
"Got it!" Lance announced, feeling like he had made a grand discovery to wipe out cockroaches off the face of the world. "I got Keith's voice." He explained more when Pidge and Hunk turned towards him and blinked blankly.    


  
There was a moment of information soaking in and then there was the mad scramble as Hunk slapped his hand over his ears to stop Pidge from taking his earpiece. Pidge yanked the earpiece out of Lance's ear instead. He let her. And then Shiro was there, unplugging the ear phones completely so all for of them could hear. Lance pressed play and listened in, too. He wanted to make sure he got the voice just right; a low timbre but also thrilling at the same time, with nice ups and downs. He definitely got it.   


  
The look of pure marvel on their faces affected Lance.   


  
"You heard Keith talk?" Shiro asked with such a stunned expression of someone just won a jackpot and couldn't believe their eyes. "His voice is just like this?"   


  
Lance smiled, pressing the "Test"button just again.    


  
Shiro flopped down on his butt with a soft plomp, the unadulterated gladness streamed forth from him.    


  
"I've never heard him speak before."   


  
"I've heard him sneeze. Like a fucking choked trumpet." Pidge breathed out a laughter, fingers flying over the screen to do something. "Everyone would love to hear this." She whispered, probably only meant for herself, but Lance could hear it, while everything was so softly spoken and softly touched at the moment.    


  
"For how long hasn't Keith talked?" Hunk chimed in, a question that was also burning on Lance's mind.   


  
Pidge looked to Shiro, so Lance, too, directed his gaze to Shiro.    


  
"17 years give or take a few months." The sigh Shiro released was world-weary and time-aware. "I was six when caretaker Felix led Keith in. It was pouring out. Keith was drenched from head to toe with water and blood. There was so much blood it soaked his back completely. That was all I saw before cook Eli shooed us all back into the dining hall before rushing out to help Felix. I didn't see Keith again until a week later, when he was moved to the dormitory. He didn't react at all to my or others' questions. He just sat there on his bed, the one beneath mine, and stared blankly at the wall in front. I could never forget that blankness. He was three then.    


  
"I talked to him every day, read him books and told him snippets of the things the others and I did. He did start looking at me the more I talked to him. The first time he tried to talk though, he couldn't make any words come out. And it was the first time his face wasn't a mask. He got so scared and couldn't breathe. I piggybacked him to the infirmary. Nurse Quinn undid the bandages around his neck and back and told me there was nothing wrong with Keith's vocal chord. I never realized how far his wound extended until that moment. It reached to the very end of his back, three deep grisly lines that bunched up his skin together and covered a better half of his back. He was half my size.   


  
"Keith tried to talk several of times after that too but whenever he tried to say something, his mouth just locked up and he got a frustrated look on his face. He stopped trying to form words and instead writing down whatever he wanted to say. He was three and could write in neat lettering. When I proposed sign language, he refused with vehemence. So I dropped the subject. Lance, great job again-“   


  
Lance stopped comprehending for a minute. His cheeks heated up. He didn’t know Shiro had been trying to get Keith to learn sign language for that long and Lance achieved it through a one-sentence text message. When he tuned back in, Pidge accusing Shiro.    


  
“-Keith was so mean to Matt.” She glared at Shiro, who had the most dumfounded expression ever. “Don’t deny he wasn’t. I was four, my memory worked.”   


  
“I- Keith-,” Shirt started then stopped himself. “How come that was considered mean?”   


  
“What’s ‘that’ though?” Lance butted in, because this seemed like Keith’s embarrassing childhood story and he needed to have every detail.   


  
“Keith opened Matt’s comic book too wide that the spine had wrinkles,” Hunk supplied helpfully, “It’s a taboo.”   


  
Lance blinked, nonplussed. He didn’t see how that was embarrassing but okay. He took what he could.    
  
“Shiro, no, you are not defending a crime against humanity. Do you know he dogeared too?” Pidge rubbed circles on her forehead. “Only criminals do that.”   


  
Shiro swayed from left to right with laughter. He even need to steady himself with a hand on Hunk’s arm.    


  
“I swear,” Shiro hiccuped when his laughter finally died down, though he was still beet red around the cheeks. “He got better. I swear.”   


  
Pidge turned around and looked at the surprisingly still sleeping form of Keith on the sofa. They had been making quite a ruckus with all the laughing and talking.    


  
“He’d better be, or I’m telling Mom and Dad to veto him.” She threatened but her twitching lips gave her away.    


  
They lapsed into silence after that. A comfortable silence. Keith had everyone looking out for him and yet, whenever he looked at Keith, Lance always felt a wall there. It was as if Keith never fully trusted himself, thinking everything was too good to be true and he was holding himself from happiness and inclusion, something Lance thought strangely bizarre and illogical. Keith needed to know that he was loved and he belonged when he woke up. Which brought lance to the question that had been lurking at the edge of his mouth but he could never put his hand on. Keith slept for far too long. And Lance believed he needed to at least take a pill.    


  
"S hould Keith wake up and take a pill or something?" He directed his question to Shiro, who was boring over a sudoku puzzle in an old newspaper with Hunk on the floor.    


  
"Huh? Ah, he already had it. He should be fine tomorrow," Shiro said then went back to the fun math.    


  
The answer didn't appease Lance. Something was omitted.    


  
"What did you give him, though? Do meds usually make him sleep this much?"   


  
This time Shiro chuckled. "No, no med. I gave him shoyu. Works miracle all the time."   


  
It took Lance a minute to digest the information. When he did, the decibels of the screech he released could power a monster city for a week.    
  


"You gave Keith _alcohol_ for his cold!?”   
  



	9. Keith

Keith didn't remember yesterday much. The cold was horrible, that was the one thing he knew for sure. And then there was a piece of orange cloud, floating laughter and something else really comfortable like sitting in the room with a cup of tea while it was raining, the enjoyment of a moment. Keith shook his head lightly, he must still be out of it to think something happening during him fighting off a horrible cold as enjoyable. His nose was still horribly blocked and his vision oscillated if he kept his eyes open for too long.    


  
Those aside, he was fairly sober and could hold a conversation without nodding off. He was aware enough to know that the small fox on his chest was very real, who was now yipping and bouncing on his chest for attention when it noticed him looking. Keith stared at it - her - until his eyes watered. He gingerly brought his hand up to touch her. Soft fur tickled his palm, cotton candy like. She yipped even harder now but still leaning against his touch. Her eyes were an intelligent shade of brown.    


  
"Oh, Rosemund Élierea Dubliner baby, are you hungry?" Lance's voice came from the doorway.    


  
Keith frowned, lifting only his head off the sofa arm to look at Lance, who was raiding the fridge and cupboard of his apartment like someone who owned the place, aka him and Shiro. Keith tapped his fingers on the table to get Lance's attention, who was now pouring milk into a bowl on the floor.    


  
"Morning, irresponsible tutor," Lance said, walking over to him. "You have slept for 13 days and today is the exam date. I'm now going to flunk this no thanks to your tardiness."    


  
Keith knew his heart had stopped beating. It was impossible, he couldn't be sick for that long, could he? He forced his lethargic arms to move. He knew his phone was somewhere close by, he just needed to locate it.  _ 13 days? And Lance was not going to be chosen to accompany Allura? _ _   
_

  
There were arms suddenly on his shoulders, and he found his reflection in Lance's blue gaze, a moonbeam in the winter sky   


  
"Keith, I was joking. Calm down," Lance said, breathing in a standard pattern.    


  
Keith found himself unconsciously matching that. His heart stuttered again. He dropped his head back onto the pillow and glared moodily up at Lance, who had drawn back and hugged Rosita Els-something — Red — in his arms, an arm supporting below. Keith did not appreciate this joke not one bit. Had he been in good shape, he would have flip Lance over his shoulders but right now, he couldn't even lift his eyelids so he settled for staring to make his disapproval known. Lance shifted away uncomfortably and Keith knew his stare worked.     


  
"The cold is all your doing, not mine." Lance set the fox down before facing him with his hands hidden in the jacket's pockets, "Though you now owe my one extra lesson. Not now, you idiot! Don't take everything I say at face value!"   


  
Keith dropped back down again, huffing out a breath that told him his throat was full of obstructive phlegm needing to be cleared out with proper medicine. He still had question for Lance though so he propped himself up again. The word churned in front of his eyes as his head lolled from side to side, apparently far too heavy for his neck to support it. He closed his eyes, the darkness pirouetted still. So he patted down the area himself, using only tactile signal to locate his phone. He finally touched it, next to his thigh, comfortably cold as a block of ice. Without even opening his eyes, he started typing, his fingers had already remembered all the positions for the keyboard years ago. He was about to put in the letter "D" when a voice rang out, vocalizing the words he was about to type in.    


  
:”Did Shiro explain to you the handclap?”:   


  
Keith whipped his head around so fast he almost tipped off the sofa. He managed to catch himself at the last moment by slapping his hand on top of the coffee table. The palm throbbed but he couldn't care less. The voice didn't sound like anyone’s he knew at all. Was there someone else here with Lance? Keith looked around, fighting off the dizziness that was now making itself known in the most unhelpful swirls of reality. There was no one behind him. And the voice had been really close to him, it couldn't have came from his room or Shiro's. So whose-   


  
"Wow." Lance whistled appreciatively, pausing in his fox petting to give Keith an ok sign. "It works perfectly."   


  
Keith was about to type 'what works' when, again the voice vocalized his thought again, complete with the incredulousness.    


  
:”What works?”:   


  
Lance tapped two fingers on his own forehead. Keith reached up to feel his. There was a flat metal circle around his forehead winding over his ears. It made a *beep* when he removed it, presumably turning itself off. It was the physical version of the prototype Hunk had shown him at Geodes, sleek and futuristic. Keith ran a finger along rounded edge. This seemed like noble metal coating, expensive metal no less. The little control pad around the curved end screamed intricacies and materials far too rare to be acquired in the truthful means. He set it down on the table, ready to go back to sleep when Lance jogged for him, cat cradled in his arms, and slid the circlet back onto his forehead again.    


  
:”What?”: The voice - Keith's synthesized voice - grumbled, with the right pitch and tones.    


  
"Do not take it off. Hunk will go after you with cookies until you feel guilty for taking it off. And Pidge will pounce on me if I don't make sure you have the circlet on your forehead all the time." With that, Lance deposited the fox onto his chest and shuffled away.    


  
Keith was too tired to argue so he decided to just leave the circlet lying there. Red stared at him before edging her way into the crook of his neck. Her fur brushed against his neck, sending uncomfortable tingling along his body he squirmed away. He didn’t manage to reach for his phone when his thought was already out there into the air as vibrations in the air.    


  
:”What am I supposed to do with the fox?”:   


  
"Let her sleep," Lance said from behind the book he had propped up in front of his face on the dining table. "Now be quiet, I need to make up for the lost knowledge." With that he put on his earphones and started scribbling at light's speed.    


  
Keith blinked once before deciding it didn't worth getting worked up over. Careful to not disturb the already asleep fox, Keith put his head down and closed his eyes.   


  
Sleep greeted him with an open arms and throngs of fire.    


  
A bird caw.    


  
A devastating scream.   


  
Rain of fire.    


  
And as per usual, when he woke up again to Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Matt, and Lance crowding around the dining table arguing about Allura’s leash of fox and accomodation, he already forgot what his dream was about.    
  


* * *

  
Keith agreed to stay put until exactly 2pm on the fourth day, as per the result of first ever verbal fracas between him and Shiro. At 1:59pm he was tapping his fingernails on his thigh in an incessant *tap tap*. He needed to move, to go, to be out of the house. The unused energy turned him into a twitchy mess of disorganization. Finally, sweet sweet finally, the twiggy number 1 blended into the lovely curve of number 2, a pleasant night breeze in a sweltering, asphalt-melting summer night. Keith flew to the doors, hopping on the spot to somehow shorten the time he needed to put on his boots. Every second counted. If he left the house at 2pm, that meant he needed to be back home at 5pm because Shiro had slapped on his I-am-you-guardian-and-I-know-your-health-better-than-you-do expression before telling him under no circumstances must he be out of the house when the an metaphorical clock chimed five. Ketih slammed the door behind him, not even bothering to lock it. Shiro was gonna be home in ten minutes with Red, back from the vet for some examination. He didn't mind the fox. if she minded her own business and didn't bother him, then he had no problem with having an active fox in the apartment. But that also meant Lance turning his apartment into a impromptu coffee shop for himself. He had dropped by yesterday and the day before that with a cup of coffee; then he proceeded to hog the dining table all for himself, spreading too many books and rumpled notebooks, Red was usually placed on his laps or exploring somewhere nearby.    


  
Again, Keith didn't really mind that. Lance was exceptionally quiet when he worked. And having Lance there was somehow soothing. Maybe when Lance came today, Keith could sketch him-   


  
The thought disappeared as sudden as it appeared, like dust flecks hanging in sunlight disappearing too fast if you didn't look at it from that specific point. Whatever that thought was, he was happy he no longer had to think about it. He thumped down the stairs, hopping three steps at times, stretching all that cramped muscles and blood veins that were begging to be used. The cold had mostly gone. An occasional bout of cough was his only worry now but he had prepared a tablets of lemon cough drops in the backpack. He pulled open the main door with vigour and jumped straight out onto the street, startling some poor pedestrians happening to be walking by at that exact moment. He took a deep breath, the clear smoky bitter air of the city was refreshing after four days rooted in the house due to health problems. The din of cars, the murmur of talking and the occasional breeze of a frosty early winter picked some extra energy off of him. He felt alive, and very much like those ladies in old movies swinging open the windows at dawn singing a good morning song. He couldn't care less, and took in deep, filling breath of the outside world until a voice figuratively pierced his hearing with its satire and amazement.    


  
"You are so much like my grandma. Adding this-" Lance stretched his arms out in front of himself, then moved them back to his side like he was wading through water, "-and you're her."    


  
:"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in class?": Keith raised an eyebrow, jutting his chin at the phoenix emblem Lance had transmuted into a simple necklace with phoenix charm hanging above his shirt.    


  
"Class canceled. Apparently there's a blackout because some building work with the great hall to prepare for Lady Allura and her entourage arrival went wrong." Lance shrugged before narrowing his eyes at Keith with the most devious and proud smirk that just told Keith he was not going to like whatever Lance was going to say next. "I'm your chaperone."   


  
:"No": Then he turned his back to Lance and walked away. His brain was still suffering from the cold aftermath. He was not dealing with this.    


  
"What! What do you mean no?" Lance walked side by side with him, waving his hands in the air.     


  
:"I'm not five": Keith looked left and right. There were no vehicles coming. He jaywalked across a four lane street and headed straight for the underground station.    


  
"You still have a cold. I'm here to make sure you get back to your apartment safely." Lance ran down the elevators, keeping with Keith's fast pace on the normal stairs. All the ads were now flashing information for the Phoenix Arrival and the big commemoration at the academy.    


  
Keith ran to the ticket control, pressing his card on the reader. It beeped shrilly and let him through. He glanced up at the information board. The train was coming in 2 minutes. He ran for the platform, everything he did today he was going to stretched out as much muscles as he could and enjoy the air of the outside world. Whistling wind sifted through the dark tunnel and the ground juddered underneath his feet, sending fine, alive tremors along his body. The head of the train flashed by him, fluorescent lights from inside the trains a psychedelic light show. Keith closed his eyes and let the lights flashed by him in stuttering frequency. The door slid open and Keith stepped inside. There were people and plenty seats left so he picked the seat towards the end of the car. Lance plopped down next to him. They sat in silence. Keith was careful to not touch Lance's arm with his, fitting himself perfectly on his chair. He even propped his head on his chair and look at the dark tunnel beyond the window to have a reason to sequester himself closer to the wall.   


  
"So where are we going exactly?" Lance asked after one stop.    


  
:"You are my chaperone. You tell me": The circlet saved Keith from having to look at Lance to show him what he needed to communicate. The circlet was really helpful. He needed to thank Hunk and Pidge for that. And thought of something nice to do for them.     


  
Lance didn't say anything to that. So Keith contented himself with watching the retreating shadow. At one point, he removed the circlet and study it again, when his mind was clearer and no muddled with haze. The programming and designing that went into this was ingenious, it knew exactly which were the thoughts he wanted to say and which were his own. Keith put it back on again, the metal was so light and unobtrusive he couldn't even tell it was there resting on his forehead, half hidden by the bangs. He felt more than hear Lance's question.   


  
"I did not bring any notes with me." He sounded so devastated and offended Keith couldn't help the snort that escaped.    


  
He decided to end Lance's silent suffering. :"We're getting my bike. No tutoring today.":   


  
"Oh, okay then." then Lance stopped squirming around in his seat.    


  
The air tunneling changed its tune, windier and livelier. The shadow quickly smeared to a bright grey before spilling into the whiteness of open air. Trees rushed by, dark green whirls in the overcast chilly early winter morning. He had left his bike there at the last station for four days and he had every reason to worry. Pidge had pulled up the camera feed of the parking lot for him. His bike was still there, safely covered from any dust that might accumulate in the four days he wasn't near to take care of it. Four days with the bike not in the parking lot of the area gave him unneeded anxiety. So he made it his mission to retrieve it the moment he could get out of the house. The new helmet in his backpack a solemn reminder of how itching he was to ride it.    


  
When the synthesized voice announcing terminal station, Keith flew off his chair and stood in front of the door, twitching to be let out. The moment the door opened, he jumped out and dashed for the garage. Somewhere from behind him, Lance's fingers brushed against his elbows, but he was too slow to catch Keith.   


  
"Damnit Keith! Wait up!" Lance called out.    


  
Keith waved his hand in the air but kept running, winding through throngs of people and the activeness in its wholeness. Either Lance caught up or he didn't, simple as that. But knowing Lance, he would. The stairs were jammed with too much people and too little space for maneuvering. Keith ignored everyone and slid down the short banister, making quick work for himself.    


  
"Jesus fucking Christ! What!" Somewhere from behind him, Lance yowled. "No, of course I don't know him! Never seen him before in my entire life. Rude bloke."   


  
Keith ran down another flight of stairs, thankfully away from the main foot traffic and down into the spacious but empty parking lot. His bike was left at H7, he was now at the end of D30, the end of D section. He started a slow jog instead, enjoying the quietus of the moment. Every footstep, every breath, every sound ricocheted. Lance drew level with him, his steps had more melody to Keith's heels dragging, a rhythmic plick plock. Keith finally saw his bike, a sight for sore eyes and he skipped towards it. He pulled back the cover canvas and sighed in relief. His bike was still intact, no recent scratches or punctured wheels. It stood there, in all its silence glory. Keith's joy and pride, he had spent all his journalling commissions money on this.   


  
With quick work, he rolled the canvas in a messy roll and stuff it inside the backpack in place of the helmet. Keith smoothed a hand over the dashboard, not a speck of dust sticking to his fingers. That was all he needed. then He swung himself onto the bike and kicked the kickstand back. he wound his fingers one by one around the throttles, the grip fitted his gloved palms perfectly like they were modeled for him, every coves and minute bumps. Keith jammed the key into the slot, turned and opened the throttle slowly like a sacrilege rituals. The bike cranked up with a blissful roar. Keith bit his lips as he pulled the throttle harder, the engine roared with reverberating glee. He understood its joy, for he too was smiling far too wide he could feel his cheeks being pulled at the edges. He let the engine die down to the sustaining hum, swinging his backpack around to his chest to take out the new, fitter helmet than his old one still dangling from the left throttle. The entire thing still smelt of newness and bubble wrap. Keith adjusted the strap under his chin to a comforting length, it still chafed against his skin but not too bad. He flipped the visor down and the world tinted in a dark grey filter of both colors and noise. The rumbling of the engine was more a rumble underneath him rather than a growling beast, luminous LED lights were easier to look straight at for more than five minutes. He tapped the gas tank out of habit, checking the level on the dashboard. Still full. He pulled the clutch, sleek as ever. He oiled it just last month. He was about to check on the brakes when there was a light tap on his shoulders. Lance hovered over him, uncertainty coloring his expression. His lips puckered lightly, unconsciously, as he said something. Keith didn't need to know what he needed to say. He held out the spare helmet towards Lance and when he didn't do anything to take it, Keith pressed it straight for his chest and reached his hand behind his back to tap the seat behind him. He wasn't going to let Lance go back to his place by underground train, Lance being here with him was a part of Keith's fault so he should take Lance home on his bike.    


  
Lance didn't immediately climb on. Keith didn't do anything else except waiting. He was contemplating taking off his helmet just to stare at Lance until he did what he was instructed when he felt the bike dipped at the tail and a pair of arms hesitantly wound around the backpacked front and tugged at it. Keith took a moment to understand what Lance wanted to do and took the backpack off. Lance took it. Keith glance back from the corner of his eyes. Lance was shrugging on the backpack, the helmet fitted around his head surprisingly well. Keith gave a glance over to see if Lance had every strap in place. He did. Keith turned back to the front, something warm blossomed in his chest and nudged the corner of his mouth into a little smile. Lance wound his arms around his waist again and interlocked his fingers in front. He wasn't holding on tight enough. Keith wanted to reprimand but he knew first-hand experience would change Lance's mind and clutch on for dear life. With that thought and a metal whoop, Keith revved the bike and took off towards the exit.    


  
Amidst the roaring and flickering lights, something sounded like a fading scream mixed in and the arms around Keith's waist tightened almost to a choking point. Keith laughed out loud but didn't slow down. He needed light speed to get out of here first. He roared up the way too steep slopes to the ground level. When sunlight replaced the synthesized lighting in the span of six seconds, Keith thought he had been asphyxiated with how tightly Lance had locked his arms around his waist and glued himself against Keith's back. Even through the thickness of leather jacket, Keith could tell how fast Lance's heart was beating and how his ribcage was trembling like paper in the fan. Keith made a conscious to slow down. He could have taken a left to shoot down the highway and reach home in a quarter of an hour at the intersection but he kept straight. He still had time until 5pm and he refused to be home before that time. And Keith wanted to show Lance the lovely hidden out-of-town places, to get him to be less scared of bikes and to give him a sort of thank you ride. He knew Lance would love the place.    


 

The road curved sweetly around a hill, barely fitting in two lanes for cars. No one took this winding road anymore save for the cyclers and scenery lovers. Keith rode at a steady speed, too slow for him but he needed Lance to let him breathe first so he endured. Lance did loosen his hold finally and sat up straight. The slight sway of the bike told Keith that Lance was turning his head left and right to take in the view. Keith didn't mind the unsteadiness, he had good control on the bike. And he didn't blame Lance, either, because this view was something he had always loved and enjoyed. No matter the season, the road leading further away from town sparkled with life and endearment. Above, clouds cracked, burst of the final autumn sunlight streamed forth, shedding lights onto the speckled sea of evergreen, yellowing needles twinkled like starlight in winter. Keith sped up gradually. The view he wanted to show Lance was at the end of the stretch of forest. Lance's hold around his waist had loosened significantly, warm and so familiar he wanted it to there forever. His heart, too, had also slowed down, a comfortable beat like raindrop on window, calm and light. He was enjoying himself.    


  
Keith never wanted him to let go.    


  
Slowly but surely, the evergreen ebbed as gold-gilded maples flowed in, their branches stretching so far out yellow leaves carpeted the road in a tapestry of honey. Keith ran straight over it. He didn't expect it to be a soggy mess of leaves and had less friction than normal. The bike wobbled a little and Lance immediately choked him with his hold again. Luckily, it was only for a moment before Keith got everything back under his control. The sun held out, weak and fading, but it was still there to shine upon the marvelous scenery Keith had kept all to himself up until now when he took a sharp right and glided downhill. There it was, winding its velvet way along white-tipped mountains, a river bluer than the deepest blue, banked with fire cloaks of oaks. He shut off the engine. The breathless "wow" from Lance must have been really loud for Keith to hear wisp of it even through the thick padding of his helmet. Keith felt like taking it off. This might be the last sunlight before winter, might as well enjoy it as much as he could. He led the bike to the side when the slope flattened out. Sound and air wafted into his senses when he slid the helmet off, a steady burble of running water and a symphony of chirping birds. He inhaled until his chest extended past its capacity. Comparing the air in the city to this freshness was the same as testing paper on water, proportionately imbalance. Lance swung his legs over the bike and slid off, wobbling.    


  
"What is this place?" He shook his hair out like a wet dog. Keith reeled in the urge to reach up and fix all those strands back to their proper places. "How far are we from town?" Lance's eagerness was infectious.    


  
:"Pretty far. Get on, we still have a lot to see.:" Keith jerked his head.    


  
Lance complied with the pure happiness of finding money hidden under the bed. He climbed on and wound his arms over Keith's waist again, a warmth Keith had started to grow attached to. Lance rested his chin on his shoulder, his smile brushing against Keith's ears with blossoming sparks.    


  
"Woo me." Lance exhaled, hot breath wafting all over his ears.    


  
Keith thanked all the deities for keeping his composure and not doing something stupid like cartwheeling or something equally embarrassing. He started the bike again and went andante for the stretch of road. Wintry air bit at his exposed skin, fanning his hair to the side. Keith had discovered this gem years ago, when he got lost in the woods and found himself wandering towards the sound of flowing water. Shiro and Caretaker Felix eventually found him late afternoon, while he was just adding a finishing touch to his reed raft. It had taken him quite a few errors and trials to find this place again, but once he did, he considered it *his*, untouched by anyone else. His getaway.  He visited it at least once for every season. Spring with its fair share of wintry naked trees but lustrous undergrowth and blue flowers; the dampness sticking to his skin. He rode into summer, contemplating just hermitting out here for the rest of the season to escape the sweltering city of cement towers; the lullaby of birds and running water always eased his jittery mind. Winter, however, was strange, lifeless and alive; and lots of white but the river never froze, it gurgled and rolled with uncontrolled vigor. He never rode out too much in winter. His nose always shut off when he was out for too long. Autumn though, autumn was always his favorite, not too cold not too hot, the leaves were no longer green but a vibrant red, a color he had more inclination for more than others, and sky a glassy blue he felt like floating at sea.    


  
_Too bad it faded away so soon,_ Keith thought grimly, curving left to follow the river.     


  
A wave of yellow leaves crested over smooth rocks. Up close, the trees were less of fiery fur and more of brown pretzel sticks than he had initially thought. Leaves had left their nests and tumbled down into the welcoming hold of earth, ready to be reborn. Keith bit his lips, withholding a sigh. This wasn't as great a "thank you" for Lance as he had thought. Lance probably wouldn't like it. But if he was willing to wait until next autumn, then maybe, Keith would have the opportunity to show Lance the real beauty of this place. Keith lost himself in the blasting airstream, rumbling of engine and water, and the solid heat of Lance on his back and round his waist. It was cosy, charming and special. And like all cosy, charming and special moment, it ended far too soon and left him yearning for more.    


  
The road kept straight as the river bid its susurrous farewell, retreating further into the mountain belly. Keith kept going slowly, not wanting to depart the moment too soon, until they got back onto main road with more people and traffic. Keith stopped the bike, handed Lance the helmet, put on his, nodded at Lance's thumbs-up, revved the bike up and shot into the flow of traffic. It was like an obstacle course, with how crowded the highway was at almost rush hour. In, out and around cars he threaded his way. It was exhilarating, going at top speed. Lance seemed to be enjoying himself too, his heartbeat a gentle tattoo against Keith's back. He leant right effortlessly along with Keith, when he took a hard right that almost brushed the throttle on the ground.    


  
The city shimmered with the glow of the bright, yellow street lamps when the time they arrived at Lance's apartment complex, a solemn off-white building swathed with vibrant students life and mutual suffering outside the center. Lance hopped off the bike and took off the helmet.   


  
"That was amazing!" He whooped, winded but with a wild, excited gleam in his eyes. He extended the helmet towards Keith. "Thanks!"   


  
Keith shook his head, flipping the visor up. :"Keep it.": and when Lance opened his mouth to argue, Keith tapped his helmet. :"I have mine. Keep it":   


  
Lance closed his mouth, looking at the helmet in his hand. He seemed questionably hesitant. Keith didn't get why.    


  
:"I'll take you out on the bike again soon. So take care of that": He supplied, hoping that that would convince Lance to just take the damn thing.    


  
Lance dropped the helmet. Keith watched it fall with disinterest. It was a high quality one, a fall from this height shouldn't even make a pinprick of scratch. Lance scrambled to pick it back up and hugged it close to his chest.   


  
"Are you serious?" Lance asked. At Keith's nod, his eyes grew wild as a pan and he whispered, almost reverently, "You *are* serious."   


  
:"Why wouldn't I be?": Keith was very perplexed now. He had a new helmet, his old one was still in good condition. It fitted Lance, who seemed to truly like riding on a bike with him and hadn't been properly repaid for his help. He just did what he thought was correct.    


  
Lance seemed to not be exhaling at all, his face puffed up in a brilliant show of red fading into aubergine. Keith knocked his boots against Lance's thigh. It worked. Lance took a gasping breath, face still surprisingly red, and glanced skywards.    


  
Keith was genuinely worry now. He was about to swing himself off the bike when suddenly Lance slapped his helmet, startling him. The thumping uncomfortable rocked around his ear canals, ringing disconcertingly. He didn't even had time to glare as he was suddenly had a faceful of Lance's hand in his vision.    


  
"No, nuh uh. We are doing this. A bike ride, yes, definitely." Lance slowly withdrew his hand to shield his face from Keith, like a superstar hiding away from nosy photographers. He kept talking even as he walked up to the doors and pulled it open. "Preferably after the event and I get to meet Lady Altea. Yeah, the ride would be a celebration. Yes that's a very good idea-"    


  
The sound faded away as the door clicked shut. Keith blinked at it once before shrugging to himself and started his bike again. He has exactly 14 minutes to get home in time for 5pm curfew. He was gently steering out onto the street again when he heard his name screamed at the top of someone's - Hunk's- lung.    


  
"KEITH! LANCE WANTS TO CONFESS- ACK!"    


  
Then this time it was Lance yelling.    


  
"NOTHING! GO HOME MULLET!"   


  
Keith didn't know what he needed to do so he did as Lance said and drove home, questions marks mushrooming in his thoughts.   
  


* * *

  
Winter blew in on with a snowstorm before cackling away without so much as a by your leave and putting a confused late autumn back in place. It was just one day of rouge snowstorm but that was enough to make Shiro make him promise to not take his bike out for a ride. Not that he was going to rebel anyway, it was too cold to sit outside for an hour waiting for Lance to get into a meditative mindset. With that decided, the next tutor session was at the apartment, and after class instead of before class like they had been doing.    


  
Keith ran his fingers on the paper of his sketchpad, feeling the slightly crumpled edges and curled corners yellowed with times and usage. He almost at the end of this pad, only four more pages left. He propped it against his thighs, leant against the arm rest comfortably, rested the pen tip on the paper and jumped out of his skin when a loud bang came off from the kitchen, the pen leaving a deep mark on the pristine paper.    


  
"I will not-“ Lance heaved himself up from the floor, glaring murderously at the fizzing cutting board Keith had provided earlier as study material. "-let a piece of dead wood look down on my skill."    


  
"Keith," Hunk called from the foot of the sofa, petting Red back to sleep. He had a pained look on his face. "Can Lance practice his transmuting with a pillow instead of the cutting board please? I feel visceral pain from seeing a cooking appliance being insulted like that."   


  
"Hey!"   


  
Keith shrugged and tossed the pillow in his laps towards Lance. Today was just to refine Lance's sense with the energy, the transmuting itself didn't matter much. :"Change of lesson topic. Transmute polyester.":   


  
"Yeah, Lance, don't hurt the cutting board. All kitchen appliances should be treated with love and care." Hunk reprimanded, sternly and business-like.    


  
"What!" Lance threw his hands up the air as Pidge laughed raucously. 

 

"You don't even worth as much as a cutting board Lance." She said, clicking a controller close. "And done. Hunk, get the driver in here."    


  
"Roger." Hunk crawled across the carpet, and gently placed a sleepy Red into the box duct-taped on top of the circle machine. Red opened her mouth for a big yawn, showing off her small tongue before winding around herself back to sleep. Keith wondered if fox’s yawn was contagious.    


  
Pidge pressed something on her phone. The disc machine hummed to life and started moving on the carpet, vacuuming with Red on top, soundly asleep. Keith tuned back to Lance swiping a hand over his face.     


  
“This is not working.” Lance clenched his jaw, fist balled up by his side. “This is too late. I can’t do master this in time for the event.”   


  
Keith studied Lance, his stiff posture and corded neck, the glassy sheen in his eyes and short breath, and stood up.    


  
:”Patience yields focus”: He stepped over the land UFO and gently picked Red up into his arms. :”Let’s try again”:   


  
He dropped Red into Lance’s hold, who automatically hugged her close his chest and stroked her back with one finger. He sat down on the chair opposite the one Lance had been occupying and re-arranged the pillow so it was between them.    


  
:”Concentrate. Breathing is key,”: Keith said, slowly putting the tips of his fingers together. :”Let the energy come to you. Do not force. Steer with will. You can’t mold dry sand, only the wind can. Understand the energy, Lance.”:   


  
Lance glared at him with heated eyes, his jaws working to unlock themselves for an argument. Keith was almost sure Lance would take it out on him and was gearing up for another explanation complete with flowcharts and graphs. To his surprise, Lance just extended Red for him to take before visibly taking a shuddering breath and facing the pillow like a noble hero ready to battle a dragon for their land. Lance battled his breathing under control and slowly oh so slowly brought his hands together, only the fingertips touching. Keith could feel the air coiling and stretching in the room, pliable clay ready to be shaped. Then he pressed his hand on the pillow. Keith’s excitement at the shower of lights must have shown on his face for Lance was beaming at him when it died down and in place of the pillow was a pair of white fluffy burgundy fishnet.    


  
“Lance what the fuck.” Pidge deadpanned, pinching the garment between her fingers as if it burned.    


  
“I don’t know!” Lance’s face was aflame as he curled and uncurled his fingers rapidly. “It was the first thing that came to my mind when I thought of polyester.”   


  
“You know what, I’m not even going to ask.” She dropped the fishnet back on the table and whistled.    


  
The land UFO bumped against his leg, too deliberate for it to be an accident. Red squirmed within his hold. Keith understood. He dropped her into the makeshift bed on top. The robot chirped, actually chirped, and moved on with its mission.     


  
“So Keith-” Hunk started.    


  
And Keith gulped, steeling himself to whatever emotional question he was going to be asked. He had learnt to take every question Hunk had for him with dollop of apprehension.    


  
“-If you can’t do alchemy, how come you know so much about what the energy feels like?”   


  
Keith almost said no, no matter what type of question Hunk ended up asking because denial was always the way to go. Then the question finally ran through the logic filter and it made sense to him. Keith pursed his lips, glancing around the room for something to look at to focus his thought. That was- a very good question. He never thought about it. Subconsciously, he just knew, *understood* the energy. Yet, he couldn't even do alchemy to actually feel the power.    


  
:"I don't know": He admitted, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. :"It just comes to me":   


  
"That's definitely strange," Pidge pushed her glasses up, the yellow glow from the kitchen catching the glasses in a terrifying mad scientist flash. "Energy feels different to every person. It's like an electric current to me. Hunk?"   


  
"Yellow wheat field before being pounded into flour. Lance?" Hunk pointed at Lance, as if they were doing turns. Or they really were doing turns as Lance mumbled.    


  
"Warmth and lavendery."   


  
Keith didn't get the wink Hunk sent Lance's way or the lobster red Lance's face had become. He was running out of similes to compare Lance's red face with how many times Lance seemed to blush.    


  
"You get our point right?" Pidge said, drawing his attention back to her. She steepled her fingers under her chin, eyeing him from the rim of her glasses, her gaze bore into him uncomfortably but Keith kept his place. "We *feel* energy, but whenever you talk about energy, it's like you can see it with your own eyes."   


  
Her words struck a chord with him, tapping against something strange he had been noticing but had never been able to put his hands on. He could see in the alchemy light and even descried the pattern the lights had. No one else could remotely have their eyes open when a transmutation started. It was indeed strange. He never noticed that before now-    


  
Something flapped against his cheeks, dragging him out of his thoughts. He glanced at Lance, then at the fishnet in his hand and it clicked.    


  
:"Did you just slap me with that?":   


  
"You're frowning again. You know, frowning is very bad for the skin. Smile more, Mullet." Lance flung the fishnet over his shoulders, looking so much like a stubborn farm boy Keith had to do a double take.    


  
:"I smile": Keith drew his eyebrows closer. He did smile, just not out in the open a lot.    


  
Lance merely threw his hands in the air in response. "And there you go frowning again."    


  
:"I-":    


  
The sound of Shiro's door opening cut off his argument. Keith swiveled around. Shiro looked haggard, he hadn't even changed out of his work clothes, cloak still on and shirt half in half out. The closer the event drew in, the more stressed he became. Keith followed Shiro's stumble around the kitchen to get to the cabinet in the far end. He reached inside and took out an opened pack of cigarettes. Keith deftly pulled out the zippo he always kept on him and threw it to Shiro. He caught it squarely then shuffled to the balcony, tiredness in every stretch of his body.   


  
"Matt is still at school." Pidge looked at her phone. "Why is it so much work to prepare for some duchess that haven't visited this oh-so-important town in 20 years?"   


  
Keith just offered a shrug. He frankly didn't know and couldn't care less. But some people and the city mayor wouldn't probably think of it like that.    


  
"Fox, Pidge. Fox," Shiro replied from the half closed balcony door, huffing out a cloud of smoke. "Real fox. Lady Altea is bringing her entire skulk of 44 foxes with her during her stay. We have had everything set up, her accommodation and all. I was informed of these 44 entourages an hour ago by Coran, her advisor, and now I have to rearrange everything. Matt is running around the city to find a lux hotel that will agree to have fox trample over their place. I need to go help him."   


  
Keith bit his lips. This was too much oversight for Shiro to make. :"Don't you know Allura loves foxes?":    


  
"No, I don't, not until an hour ago." Shiro answered, stepping back in. Cigarettes smoke hang around him, a woody burnt scent a a hint of cherry. "Where did you read that?"    


  
"It's on the news somewhere." Keith shrugged. He read too much newspaper, now everything just blurred together into one big ball of random information.    


  
Lance, however, disagreed. "Uhm no. I read every article concerning Allura Altea, and not once have I come across anything that remotely mention her crazy love for foxes. I would have transmuted more foxes instead of this." He made a face at the fishnet still hanging over his shoulders. "Or maybe-"   


  
Without any further warning, Lance put the fishnet back onto the table, brought his fingers together and straight up transmuted the abomination his pillow had been turned into into a red plushie fox the size of Red without any hesitation.    


  
:"Good job": Keith raised an eyebrow, taking the plushie in his hand to study it. For some reasons, it seemed very familiar to him. :"You're getting it":   


  
Lance took his time to reply to the praise, long enough Keith had to look up to check if he had somehow offended Lance. He didn't expect the soft smile, or the way Lance seemed to glow, staring at his own hands in giddy accomplishment. When he finally looked up, Keith's breath got trapped in his sarcophagus at the sweet smile directed towards him.    


  
"Thanks, Keith."   


  
His stomach did a little somersault and his heart tap-danced in his chest.    


* * *

  
The closer the event was, the more stressed Lance turned out to be.    


  
Keith had every right to believe that Lance would self-combust when doomsday came. He even debated on using the fire extinguisher on Lance when that day came just to help him keep a cool head. Working himself up over this would just land him further away from Allura's sight and not get him anywhere he wanted. he had been revising non-stop, practicing and reciting theories even when he ate. That worried Keith and also astounded him at the same time. LAnce could be really focused if he put his mind to it, the day after doubling the effort. And that worried Keith. Lance might burn himself out before even getting a chance to set foot into the event.    


  
Enough to say, he was frankly surprised when, 26 hours before the event, Lance came to the apartment, not laden with books or wearing a serious look in his face, but with a huge smile and a gaiety Keith hadn't seen him in in a week.    


  
"Let's take a road trip." was what he announced and Keith walked up to him to touch his hand against Lance's forehead. It wasn't warm. "I'm not sick Mullet."    


  
:"Road trip": Keith deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. :"Are you crazy?":   


  
"Okay, okay, Keith, listen." Lance grabbed his shoulders, a bit too tightly and nearly yelled in his face, a frenzied, harried look in his eyes that was nicely masked. Keith knew it; Lance had lost his mind. "We need this road trip. _ I _ need this road trip."   


  
:"It's winter, where can you even go?": Keith shrugged within Lance's hold, hoping his calmness could knock some sense into Lance.    


  
"The beach!"   


  
:"What?":    


  
Keith wanted to knock Lance out right then and there. This wasn't him speaking any longer.    


  
"A road trip sounds really nice about now." Shiro hummed from the couch.    


  
:"Shiro, what?": That was it, now even his brother had gone crazy with stress.    


  
Shiro stretched and let out a yawn so wide an elephant could fit inside. He looked even more tired than Lance did, with deep bags under eyes and sunken-in cheeks. A myriad of empty water bottles and energy drink cans laid on top of the coffee table. Shiro picked one out of the pile, thankfully a water bottle, and downed the last drop.    


  
"I said,” He repeated the statement, snapping his laptop shut like one would a book. "It is a great idea and let's go."    


  
"Yes! Someone finally gets me." Lance crowed, hopping in his spot with far too much energy. Keith felt cheated he had worried about Lance.    


  
Shiro walked past him and gave him a distracted pat on the shoulder. "Get ready. Meet you downstairs in 5." and disappear into the room.    


  
"Roger!" And then Lance was gone, disappear, out of his sight. If Keith squinted and looked just 34 degrees to the left, he could see a silhouette of Lance's after image.    


  
Keith stood there, alone on the living room with only his breathing with him. That was not what he expected to happen first thing in the morning. His backpack already had all the essentials he always needed. Keith plucked it down from the coat hanger and put his sketchpad in, before stuffing in some sweet potatoes from the kitchen drawer in too. He hadn't went camping for a while, might as well go all out.    


  
Lance was waiting by the lamppost, leaning almost too heavily against it. He constantly checked his phone for something but when Keith sidled up to him, he immediately put it back into his pocket. Keith raised his brows but didn't make a comment. They didn't say anything either, content to people watching and red-blue car spotting.    


  
"Red car." Lance nodded his head towards a red scooter when his count was 10 less than Keith's    


  
:"Like hell": Keith argued, before pointing at a kid in blue rollerblades. "Blue car."   


  
"Oh this is on, Mullet."    


  
"Okay, knock it out you two." Shiro pulled over, window rolled down just so he could glare at them both from his sunglasses-eyed.    


  
Keith looked at the sky. Just clouds, and pidgeons, and oh, more clouds.   


  
"Do you think I could look at people with my naked eyes and not have them freak out?" Shiro briefly pulled the glasses off and Keith had to agreed. "Get in."   


  
"Shiro, just to let you know, sunglasses are trending now, and you rock them." Lance jumped right into the backseat as Keith took the front seat. "Can we pass by the cafe to pick up Pidge and Hunk?"   


  
:"What about Matt?": Keith looked at Lance from the rear-view mirror, who was very outwardly fixing his hair by looking at the mirror too.    


  
"Sleeping," Shiro answered before continuing without Keith having to ask. "I would sleep if it wasn't for the methyltheobromine affecting my nerves system."    


  
"Methyl something something, that's uh," Lance voiced from the back seat. Keith glanced up at the mirror to see him rubbing his chin.    


  
:"Caffeine": Keith said, putting a hand out of the window to lazily wave at Pidge and Hunk.    


  
Shiro stopped the car in front of the shop, allowed them time to get in before driving off towards the highway.    


  
It was a ruckus at the back. Pidge pushed Hunk in first before getting in, then growled wordlessly as she was squashed between Hunk's large build and the door when Shiro made a turn to get into the main road.    


  
"Lance, switch place with Hunk." Pidge huffed, after successfully getting her breathing back.    


  
"Not happening. That means both of us will get squashed at the same time."   


  
"Fair point. Hunk, go sit on the roof."   


  
"Just for your information, it's illegal for any operator of a passenger vehicle to permit any person to ride on the bumper, radiator, fender, hood, top, trunk, or running board of such vehicle when operated upon any street or highway."   


  
"Guys, settle down." Shiro sped up suddenly and didn't seem to care at all for the surprised intakes of breaths. He pulled over for the third time in a row in under an hour. "Keith, switch with Hunk."   


  
Keith ignored the the relieved exclaims from behind, instead he turned to Shiro, squinting. :"Why?":   


  
"For my sanity." Shiro sighed tiredly, blowing air out from his mouth.    


  
Shiro looked dead tired, that was enough to convince Keith. He unbuckled the seat belt and got out. Pidge pushed Hunk out with both hands and gleefully motion to get in. He went along with her. This was really not a matter at all. Lance turned his nose up when Keith settled down, and some part of Keith just wanted to take the gaunlet and got into another zany argument with Lance.    


  
"All right, no fighting." Shiro warned before taking the car out into the traffic flow again, and hopefully not stopping anywhere they reached the beach.    


  
The ride restarted with much more calmness. He, having been seated in the middle seat, couldn't conveniently lean again a window and watch the scene flash by, started to nod off. Sometime in, while he was in a state of half asleep but still aware, something heavy landed on his left shoulder, off-setting his head's upright position. His head started nodding towards the strange but soft mass.   


  
When he jerked awake, everyone was already piling out of the car. Keith looked to the left. There it lay, over bushy plantation, a stretch of gray sea, crash over muddied rocky coastline.  Grumble and gurgling, white-tipped heads colliding and receding, folding over one another. It was loud, a comfortable loudness. Lance sprang his hands wide open, hugging the wind.    


  
"This is awesome!" he exclaimed, a blissful smile lighting up his feature. This was the most at peace Keith had ever seen him. He sneaked a photo. He wanted to sketch this for the last page he had.    


  
Hunk not so accidentally bumped the tent into Lance's back, knocking him, and Keith who was watching Lance, back into reality. Without another words, Lance strode for the trunk and helped unloading the camping equipment. Keith noted he was still half out of the car, moved completely out and started helping too. Pidge was kicking a big bag after unsuccessfully dragging it over to the site. He wordlessly picked up one side of the handle. Pidge got the cue and picked the other side. They nodded once, then in synchronization, lifted the bag above the ground and slowly made their way over to where Shiro was transmuting a roll of canvas into the shape of a tent.    


  
Lance squinted at the acceptable tent, a military print colored big enough to fit all of them. "Something is missing."   


  
He walked around the tent, studying it like a scientist inspecting an alien specimen. Keith ignored him and went to help Hunk dig up a hole on the sand for the fire pit. The wind kept blasting sand into his eye, briny air battled with coldness around him. One way or another, in the end, he ended up with his clothes stuck uncomfortably into his skin. Hunk stepped out from the pit and gave Keith a hand up. Hunk's hand was warm, callouses running along the base of his fingers, probably from holding knives, and sandy. He was stronger than Keith had estimated. For a breathtaking moment, he felt like he was lifted of the ground like a piece of cloth left fluttering in the air before his feet touched solid ground.    


  
"Hah!" Lance snapped his fingers. "I know what!"    


  
Then Lance pressed his fingertips together then pressed both hands on the side of the tent. Keith didn't know what to expect of the outcome of the transmutation, but he sure as hell didn't expect a flag with Lance's caricatured face on it planting at the very top of the tent.    


  
No one said anything, until Pidge stormed into the tent and dragged out a sleeping bag.    


  
"I refuse to sleep underneath that flag."    


  
"Excuse you, my face is worthy to be on a flag." Lance put his hands on his hips and looked pretty much like those ancient stern grandmothers Keith had seen on tele.    


  
"So, Keith, want to help me start a fire?" Hunk said, jerking his head deeper into the vegetation.    


  
The tennis banter didn't seem to be cooling down, and now, somehow there was a pigeon on the flag on top of Lance's blotch of brown Keith supposed to be his hair. Keith shrugged and followed Hunk. The wood was mostly damp and unsuitable to light a fire, but Keith sketched a messy transmutation circle and had Hunk drew out the moisture. They gathered a towering pile before going back to camp. The flag fight had died down at last. Shiro helped them with lighting up the fire. Keith flicked the zippo out. The wind kept blowing the measly flame out. That was the reason why no one ever went camping at the beach in November. That and the dying light. By the time the fire was lit up, and Hunk was handling the food, it was already twilight. No one talked much anyway, conserving energy at the face of the voracious wind and freezing temperature. Keith held his hand the closest he could to the fire, feeling the heat surrounding his fingers but not warming up anything. No one else was much better, except for Lance, who was watching the tide coming in with an attentive look in his face. Keith followed his gaze. It was so dark he could hardly see anything that could be worthy of Lance's attention. Shiro had his eyes closed, looked to be meditating or at least having a peace of mind but Keith knew better. He was actually nodding off.    


  
"Oh look at this beauty." Hunk marveled at the row of skewers, covering his hands over his mouth.   


  
The smell was tantalizing. Keith found himself unconsciously nodding at Hunk's words.   


  
"I thought you were too tired to make any food?" Pidge picked up a skewer and set it back in front of the fire again.    


  
"Food calms me Pidge. And store bought skewers taste like lemon powdered saw dust.” Hunk fanned the smell into his face. "And it's good. Dig in."    


  
Faster than Keith blinked, Shiro had already had a skewer in his hand and was now biting into it, huffing like a fire truck. Lance waved one in front of his face, so he nodded his thanks and took it. It must have smelled good, but Keith couldn't tell it, for his nose was completely blocked after almost two hours in direct wind. Keith took a bite. He didn't expect the juice to squirt into his eyes. Laughter rang around. He aimed for an annoyed scowl but his mouth twitched uncontrollably probably gave him away. He saw Lance pull out a tissue and extended his hand to take it. Lance didn't do that; he leant closer and closer and wiped his cheeks. Keith was too surprised to do anything else except sitting there and let Lance do it. His heart suddenly sped up for no reasons. He wasn't running nor was he afraid of something, it was just Lance's careful touch, his too close face and his warm fingers. "You have some spots there," Lance drew back and dropped the tissue onto his hands.   


  
Already, Keith wanted that warmth and that closure back. He wiped the corner of his mouth with that and bit into the skewer again, not wanting to do anything reckless, like kissing Lance for example. Hunk's cooking skill was superb, it was good, everything was seasoned nicely. Keith could have used more adjectives to sing praise to Hunk but his mind was too busy fighting against his heart, trying to quench the irrational need to take Lance's hands in his own. The urge intruded his mind, enveloped it in spider web thread, unseen and could not be untangle on his own. A loose silvery thread kept taking his hands too Lance's, but he held down. Keith wanted to burn it, if he couldn't sort it out, the next best thing he could do was destroying.    


  
Keith didn't realize he had finish the skewer until an acute pain in between his front teeth drew him back to the windy barren landscape lit up by their merry fire. A splinter had pierced itself inside his gum. Keith winced, picking it out. The tip of the skewer was gnawed on, until it became flat and wooden thread tearing. His gum throbbed. Keith opened his mouth wide for a cold windy blast to ease it. The wind chose that exact moment to change direction and blasted him straight in the face with smoke from the fire. His eyes watered as he coughed his throat raw. The cold hadn't gone completely away it seemed. He should move to the Shiro's side. And somehow, when he could finally see through the tears, his knees were touching Lance's. Keith gave up and sat where he was, his body wasn't under his control anymore anyway.    


  
Hunk was passing s'mores around. Keith shook his head, and took out the sweet potato and tossed it into the open flame instead.   


  
"Keith, what are you doing?" Lance gaped in unabashed horror. "No one refuses s'mores, especially Hunk-made s'mores."   


  
Keith took an unburned stick from the roaring fire, and buried the sweet potato underneath. "I don't like swe-"   


  
Lance got right into his face and mimicked talking with his hand. "No, no, unacceptable." Then he pressed his own uneaten s'mores into Keith's face. "Take a bite."   


  
Keith leant as far back as he could. Lance kept pressing in. The damp, cold sand soaked onto his elbows and the s'mores was so close to his face. He glared at Lance. Lance glared right back, the fire glow at his back giving him a feral feel. Lance wasn't going to give him any time soon. Too bad, Keith was stubborn as a mule. They stared into each others' eyes, unblinking. Lance wanted a contest, Keith would give it to him.    


  
"Would you two just kiss already?" Pidge muttered.    


  
Her words should have lost in the wind and fire but Keith heard it clearly. Keith opened his mouth in horror surprise. Lance seemed to have heard her too, for he whipped around and dropped the s'mores onto Keith's nose.    


  
"What!" Lance exclaimed, finally moving away so Keith could heave himself to an upright position. "I have these cheeks reserved for Lady Altea, mind you."    


  
Keith didn't pay attention to Lance. He wiped some melted marshmallow and chocolate stuck on his nose. The s'mores lay on the sand. Keith picked it up. Sand grains stuck to every stretch of marshmallow and chocolate. Silica wasn't on top of his nutrition list so he tossed it into the fire and watched it burn, a soothing sight as ever. Hunk wore the saddest, most disappointed look on his face over the flickering fiery tongue. Keith mustered up an apologetic smile.    


  
“Is it just me or is everyone overreacting with Allura Altea coming?” Pidge said.   


  
Keith tuned back into the conversation. She voiced exactly what he had been wondering for months. Allura was just another human, albeit a special one but that didn't mean she loved the attention.    


  
“Excuse you! Allura Altea deserves all the attention she gets! She’s pretty, beautiful and talented.” Lance crossed his arms across his chest, huffing as if he was Allura's personal protector. Keith snickered to himself. As if Allura ever needed a protector.    


  
“Well she’s lived for - what - 327 years, of course she’s talented.”   


  
“Semanti cs." Lance waved a hand in the air. "She keeps the Altea Foundation running after Alfor Altea stepped down over 200 years ago. She *is* talented."   


  
Pidge stuffed the rest of her s'mores into her mouth. “Fine, props to that.”   


  
“Do you think the Alteas have created the stone?” Hunk joined into the conversation.    


  
Keith crossed his legs. *The* stone, the magnum opus every alchemist was seeking after, but only the Alteas had succeeded. The Stone of the Wise. A stone of legendary and rumors. The Alteas never said a word when asked but Keith reckoned they must have somehow created the stone for what else could explain their abnormal longevity? Jellyfish regression? He thought not.    


  
“It’s what they say. What else do you think can explain for their abnormally longevity?” Lance shrugged, echoing his thoughts.    


  
“I'll hack into their system." Pidge said, already typing into her phone.    


  
“Good idea Pidge, I’m digging up feeds from the Research Center.” Hunk joined in, pulling out his phone as well. Keith wondered what kind of phone these two had powerful enough to hack into top-secret with high security. They would be a formidable pair if they ever decided to bring show their creations to the world.   


  
“Okay, knock it off." Shiro announced, like a law-abiding citizen he was, just as Keith predicted. "No one is hacking into the Alteas’ security system and top secret files tonight.”   


  
Pidge blew a raspberry. “Partypooper.”   


  
The talk dwindled down. Keith took the opportunity to enjoy the evening as best as he could with the wind blowing him sideways and the strenuous roaring of open ocean. He couldn't even properly enjoyed the roasted sweet potato without the wind slapping him upside the head and cooling down his treat way past its enjoyable time and into a block of iced cotton candy. He blamed Lance for this. They could have easily make smores in the apartment, away from the cold and in the safe confined of the heated room with plenty of blankets. But no, they had to go camping, at the beach, in starting of the winter November.    


  
Shiro initiated a yawning chain and they soon piled in to tent one after another. The flag with Lance's face was still flying over the tent like a territory flag on the moon but it was too dark to make out any details further than a splotch of brown color. Keith was the last to get in. He was pretty sure there was a reason why the only bag that was empty was the one right next to Lance but he was sleepy and Lance seemed to have gone straight into deep sleep, skipping REM  and everything. Keith looked the tent's ceiling and let out a sigh.    
  


* * *

  
Something bright shook him into wakefulness. In those fleeting moment of uncertainty before the brain kicked in, Keith remembered flame and fear. He wiped his eyes. The wind had died down completely. There was barely a breeze anymore, the gentle lull ebbing and flowing of the sea the only sound he could here, except for the other's snoring of course. Keith looked to his left. Lance's sleeping bag was glaringly devoid of a  Lance. The tent flap was open also. Keith looked at his phone. The sun was hardly going to rise in 5 hours, if Lance was a dawn watching person. Light as he could, he stepped out of the tent. Lance's shoes were missing from the pile of footwear. Keith turned his head his way and that before noticing a human shaped figure standing at the very edge of the sea. The worry Keith didn't even notice clutching onto him let go. He could breathe easier. His fingers stopped their intermittent shaking, allowing him to  put on his shoes, laces untied. He jogged, almost broke into a run, to the edge of the sea, where Lance seemed to be standing calf deep in the murky water.    


  
:"Lance!": He called. The speaker didn't translate his worry well this time. He was thankful. :"What are you-":   


 

"Quiet." Lance said, barely a whisper but Keith shut up all the same. "Come here."   


  
Keith should have said no, that this was dangerous, that the night sea might held creatures he never knew existed. He should have stayed on shore, with his boots and socks still on and his pants still covering his full length of his legs. He should have done all the thing he should have done and not standing here, calf deep in the water at night, frozen and hair raising up all over his body. In the meagre light of a setting crescent moon, he gave Lance a once over. There was no outward wounds nor did Lance show any discomfort at the icy liquid knives winding around his leg. The evening wind had cleared the sky up for a showcase of dancing stars. Keith loved it, but he was too cold and freezing to enjoy its peacefulness.    


  
:"Lance, what.": He tried again, blowing hot air into his cupped hands.   


  
"It's almost time," Lance said absently, looking at the horizons for something only he could see.    


  
Keith followed Lance's gaze. He saw nothing. A shiver ran along his frame, his fingers curling up like dried leaves.    


  
:"For wha-":   


  
He didn't manage to finish the question when the tide suddenly pulled out with far greater force than the consistent gentle tug. His arms pinwheeled in the air, fighting to regain the balance. When he had accepted the fact that his clothes would be thoroughly soaked through, a warm hand grasped his and hauled him back into equilibrium. Keith took a moment to calm his heart. Lance's hand was still clasping his firmly. Keith wanted him to never let go. His fingers were slender and longer than Keith's, softer too and so so warm. Keith loved this warmth, a warmth that traveled along his skin and warmed up his freezing core. He wondered how warm Lance's chest was. And then Lance let go. Keith despaired at the loss but he didn't say anything; *shouldn't* say anything.    


  
"Here it comes." Lance said, with much excitement of a puppy.    


  
Keith turned to look at him with a question on the forefront of his mind and died before it could be made into speech. Lance's smile dazzled, a universe of stars couldn't compare to the luminosity of this. The carpet of sky diamonds above paled pitting against this. Keith wanted to hold that smile in his hands and hung it on the sky, two moons would be better than one. The reality of the situation struck him like a penguin slapping his face with its clumsy wet flippers. He could *see* Lance's smile. Keith looked down at his feet and coherent thoughts promptly fled its confine and made way for his photographic memory. Around him, water lit up in an azure luminescent glow, waning and glowing with the sea flow. No art, no photos could capture this ephemeral. For as far as he could see, water glowed. A hue of beautiful hidden underwater world just now made known to the upper land, when no one was around to spoil and ruin it.    


  
"My mom passes away at childbirth," Lance whispered, lips barely moving. He didn't look at Keith, instead he once again studied the line of luminescent water stretching over the horizon. Keith looked at him intently, not wishing to miss a word. "Veronica said Mom was the most beautiful breadwinner of the household. Mom made mean guava pastelitos. She fixed the car like no other. She had calloused hands and thick curly hair. Mom gave the greatest hug, it felt like holding spring since Mom spent her early mornings plowing dirt and digging in manure for her flowers. I never get to see her outside of a photo."   


  
Lance stopped, eyes further away than ever. He must be somewhere else not now. Keith's heart went out to Lance. He never knew. Lance never said. They were more similar than Keith had initially believed. When Lance began again, his voice cracked. Keith's heart broke apart, too.    


  
"Dad said when someone die, their souls will join the stars above to watch over their loved ones, no matter days or nights." He took his gaze to the starry map over head. "But the stars are too far away for me to touch them. And I want to touch them. I  _ need _ to touch them. I want her to know that I'm doing well, that I'm living the life that she gave up for me. She could have lived, you know. But she chose me. I  _ need _ to tell her I love her and I want to tell her all my story. The sea of stars-" Lance gestured to the glowing blue ripples around them, "-this is the closest I can come to her. I time this camping. Don't want to miss a mother and son bonding."    


  
Keith didn't realize Lance had stopped talking. He had expected tears when he studied Lance. The melancholy smile was not unexpected. Lance bent down and brushed his hand on the blue satin sea. It glowed at the lightest touch. Without even realizing what he was doing, Keith had had Lance in his hold and was running a hand in his hair. If he could touch the cloud, then this must be what Lance's hair felt like. Lance didn't fight to get out, only a stifled surprised intake. Keith pressed Lance's face against his shoulders, his fingers never stop smoothing Lance's hair.    


  
"I understand," he mumbled, because he did. Lance didn't have to shoulder this all on his own.    


  
Like a broken dam, a crumbling fort, shattered glass, Lance broke down, quietly at first before the loose threads holding him together tore at the seams. He warbled against Keith's shoulders, unintelligible. His tears damped Keith's jacket. Lance shook like a great oak in a tornado, desperately clinging onto that stretch of grounded stability. Keith kept a firm hold Lance. He would be the stability Lance needed.    
  



	10. Lance

Lance tried to recall the night before. The car rocking underneath him and lulling him into sleep didn't help his already slipping memory. He remembered standing amidst the sea of stars, then Keith was there, then they talked, then the hazy recollection of tight chest, blurbing mess and steady shoulders. The car ran into a pothole, launching Lance's head against the ceiling grab. Shiro apologized immediately. Lance wanted to say something along the lines of 'it's all right', or 'don't worry', or even 'I'm very sorry I make you take us out on a spontaneous seaside camping during winter while you still have a lot of work and are too sleep deprived to drive but you are still driving anyway.' But no, his mouth refused cooperation with his brain and he ended up mumbling some incoherent letters from the alphabet.    


  
Aside from Shiro, Lance was the only one awake. Hunk snored up a train honking compilation from the front seat. Pidge, with her small stature, was leaning against his side and had her feet on Keith, who was pressed closed to the other doors, breathing through his half opened mouth. Lance winced; the glass window must not make a nice pillow. Keith should have sat in the middle again so Lance could use the opportunity to gently steer Keith's head onto his shoulders. He wanted to card his fingers through that fluffy mane of hair one more time and, if he was stealthy enough, kiss those creased lines on his forehead away.    


  
This time too, Keith had those creased lines along his forehead. Lance was a sleeping-Pidge length too far way to help. He wondered what kind of unpleasant dreams Keith had to make him show his displeasure so openly. Since Shiro was driving and needed the focus, Lance entertained himself with revising the theory for today's big event.    


_   
Alchemy symbolism. Phoenix. The phoenix is a coat of arms for the Alteas and later the symbol for Altea Academy of Alchemy. Did he really cry on Keith shoulders last night? How phoenixes came to be was still up to debate. Many suggest the hypothetical Philosopher's Stone in the Altea's possessions play a role in the coming of phoenixes. What do these roasted turkeys have anything to do with the nature of Alchemy? Henceforth, phoenixes are considered a sacred creatures, a creation of Alchemy and must be respected _   


  
Lance dropped his head into his hands. He knew it; revising was a pointless endeavor when his mind overflowed with thoughts of Keith and more thoughts of Keith. It was decided, he would now let the exams lie in the hand of faith and did his best. He had Keith, once-top Alchemist student, tutor him for over two months. He had the opportunity no one had ever had. He would be damned if he couldn't win a spot in the entourage for Allura Altea.    


  
Shiro stopped at his apartment to drop him and Hunk off and drove away, though not before yelling at Lance the starting time for the event. 1pm. 5hrs from now. He could do this. Hunk dragged his feet on the asphalt while lance sprinted straight for their apartment and let himself in. As organized a mess as ever with cartoon boxes neither of them had the energy to open and arrange the stuff inside piling on top of one another in the whole way. Lance shook off his shoes and dusty since they haven't been free long enough to deep-cleanse the entire flat. _After this,_ Lance promised himself, _This place will be squeaky clean._   


  
He launched himself into the shower and shot out straight for his notes upon cleaned.   


  
Four hours thirty-six minutes. Cramming wouldn't be a problem.    


  
Time passed in a blink, Lance swore. He hardly had anything in before it was time to leave. Slinging his bags over his shoulders, he skipped for the door. Hunk's exuberant 'Good luck' filled him with confidence. Still he needed something more....something from Keith.    


  
His feet acted before he had the chance to review his thoughts. And when he was back into himself again, Lance found himself face to face with the brass '3' of Keith's apartment. He stopped breathing for a good minute, not entirely sure what had brought him here. He needed to leave. Then Keith was there, alertness in his gaze but eased up when dragged to Lance's own gaze. Lance despaired. He didn't remember ever ringing the bell?   


  
:"Lance," Keith intoned, leaning lightly against the doorframe. Lance loved hearing his name from Keith. :"Shouldn't you be at school? The test starts in-" Keith glanced behind his back, "-6 minutes."    


  
"I am. It's just-" Lance cut himself off, hands wringing together and looked anywhere but Keith. He shouldn't have come. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure if they were together together or had all this been his hopeful imagination. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. "Forget it. It's nothing."   


  
He still had more to say, meaningless apology but Keith’s grounding hand on his shoulders stopped his tirade. Lance looked up to stare into the night lake of Keith’s eyes, warm, full of understanding and encouragement. Quick like a hare, Keith leant towards him and pecked him on the cheek.    


  
:“You’ve got this, Lance.” Keith drew back to his place, acting as if nothing had happened between them, as if he didn’t kiss him!   


  
And then Keith was gone and Lance found himself sitting in the cavernous hallway near the lake of campus, newly constructed and transmuted for the event. Lance got to his assigned seat and flopped bonelessly down, lost in thoughts. This was the second gap in his memory in the morning. Did Keith really kiss him or was it his imagination again? Lance absently brush a finger on his left cheek. There, right under his cheekbone, he remembered Keith's chapped lips brushing, summer sun warmth. A smile stretched across his face. Keith had really kissed him, a passing cheek kiss but a kiss. *Keith* initiated it. Lance was half giddy, half competitive. He wanted to be the initiator too!    


  
His mood soared an broke the wooden ceiling. The test was going to sail smoothly, he was certain of it. Lance straightened in his seat and looked dead ahead as students after students poured in, their academy pins uniformly pinned on their chest, no remodeling no extravagant design, just a platinum circle with a golden phoenix rising from flame. He glanced down at his chest. His was there, reflecting lights overhead. Lance played with his pen, his seat was at the very back of the raised podium, giving him a full view of everyone. Something about this construction bugged him. The wooden floor, the wooden supporting beams and the outer wall covered completely in grass, as if someone inflated the grassy park with an air pump.    


  
This felt like a middle earth house.    


  
He shook his head, covering the grin across his face. He had an inkling as to who had designed this place. Matt. He just knew it Matt. If it were Shiro or anyone else, the construction would have been more sophisticated and well-thought out than this fantasy world inspired architecture. Up in the front, examiners were piling in, Iverson, Hendrick, Joaquim, Professor Holt, Shiro and Coran Wimbleton. Lady Allura was nowhere in sight. Lance took a shuddering breath. Teachers he could understand, but the appearance of Coran the Sagacious as a proctor threw him a boulder on top of his nerves.    


  
They all settle down on their assigned place around the room. Shiro walked by him. Lance could have sworn the encouraging smile was meant only for him, not that he was sure but he wanted to believe it. Only Coran was standing at the front, his neon orange judge wig made him into a noticeable street lamp and quite a fashion suffering, denim trench coat on turmeric patterned dark blue suit. Lance’s eyes twitched uncontrollably; this makes a hodgepodge of colors he didn’t want to witness. His respect for Coran was no slowly dwindling into a point zero numerical figure.    


  
“Afternoon, gentleladies and gentlemen! All right?” Coran took to the front and announced, his accent thick and royally. He pushed his monocle - who wore monocle in this time and age? - and continued. “I, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, will be your valiant overseer for this theory exam and practice test. Lovely Lady Allura will be joining me for the applied knowledge part. You lot are going to love her! Now then, time to blaze the exam. It was nice knowing you. Good luck younglings!”    


  
And Coran clapped his heels together and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The hall was in royal silence and complete bafflement. No one uttered a sound, even when Coran barged back into the hall from the front door, holding a champagne glass filled with steaming rich brown liquid. Was vodka supposed to be consumed boiling hot? Coran took a sip from the glass. The silence was deafening.    


  
“Hmm?” He finally noticed the attention of over 100 people on him and looked at his tea glass with apprehension. “Does everyone want a cuppa, too? Now, I understand you lot but my apologies. This is my tea and you needy, tea-enthusiastic chaps need to pop round your place to get your own. I decline the thought of tea sharing.”    


  
He completely turned his chair around to face the wall instead of watching the students like a proctor was supposed to do. Silence reigned on, Coran’s blissful sighs reverberated around the packed hall. Lance wanted to curl up and laughed hysterically. Coran’s obsession with tea reminded him so much of Keith. They would make great tea bros.    


  
There was shuffling in the back. The proctors have finally stood up and was now handing out the paper. The silence immediately flowed back to the suspenseful one from before. When Iverson passed by him to slap the paper in front of him, he glared at Lance. Lance returned in kind with a determined one. He would show Iverson that he had every right to be in the Advanced class.    


  
“The exam starts,” Shiro waited for a tick. “Now! You have thrirty minutes.”    


  
Lance frowned. Thirty minutes? That was unusually short. Their usual theoretical exams could last up to four hours if the questions required transmutation circle sketching and listen of object property. Up to five if literally theory was asked. Around him, noise of confusion and paper rustling sprouted. Lance flipped his paper over too. He thought he might be hallucinating. On the piece of paper, only one question in bold gazed up at him.    


  
**Describe energy to you.  
**

  
The noise had became a buffet of murmuring, indistinct words but gaining speed and momentum. Lance looked around, everyone was looking around too, more than half of those gazes were directed to the back of the chair at the front, where only snoring was to be heard.    


  
“Quiet down.” Shiro’s commanding tone brought a semblance of order back. Everyone shifted their attention to him, Lance as well. “All questions will be answered at the end of the exams. You now have 28 minutes.”    


  
The time countdown doused the whole room like an iceberg. The stress was one agin soared through the roof. Lance looked at the question again. He didn’t understand how this  could help pick 13 people out of 129 to move on the practice test. Everyone was already scribbling. The guy sitting on the same line as Lance had already flipped to the second page and was now proceeding to spill out more flowing words for his answer. Lance bit his fingernails. He wasn’t good at writing. ‘Describe’? Heck he couldn’t verbally word let alone physical word. He closed his eyes, conjuring up the memory of the few recent times he had transmuted. Energy to him was warm. Lance put that down as a bullet point. It was happiness too. Another bullet point. It-   


  
-was all he got. His finger throbbed. He had bit into the tip of the finger too. Lance didn’t pay it any mind. He would be upset later - he had been trying to get rid of the habit - but not now. This was a serious problem. He couldn’t end his answer here.    


  
Hunk and Pidge always had a specific imagery to their energy, A field of golden bread for flour and river of flour for Hunk, and a circuit wire surfing for Pidge. His was just feelings, indescribable feeling, smoke in the air, could see but could not comprehend. Lance wracked his brain for something more. Warm like spring sun and special like Keith’s rare smiles. That was not something he wanted to put into his answer. There had to be something more. Whirlwind of light. Turbulent vortex. He couldn’t keep his eyes open when a transmutation was active but deep in him, he knew the blinding energy light discharge had shape to them. He had no idea how this would fit in the exam but he jotted it down anyway and dropped his head onto the table. Mere four words, for a test to prove himself to everyone that had doubted him.    


  
“Time’s up. Pens down and hands off the table.” Shiro announced, as he and others walked along the rows to collect the papers.    


  
Lance kept his head resolutely on the table, not wanting to face Shiro’s disappointment. That was it, he flunked this in the worst possible way. Keith was going to be disappointed timed infinity. Lance should be a monk under the sea now and hunt for mythological mermaids, at least they didn’t know him and could not give him a disappointment sigh.    


  
Commotion at the front made him curious enough to peak an eye up. Shiro was shaking Coran’s shoulders, who was dreaming about being a motorcycle judging by his thunderous snores.     


  
“Advisor Coran,” Shiro said softly, almost uncertainly. Lance balked. That was an odd word to use for Shiro. Shiro oozed confidence and sureness even in his sleep-deprived state yesterday. “Sir, the tests are read-“   


  
“Bumbling wigzenmot!” Coran jerked awake with a meaningless sound. “Goodness you gave me quite a fright, chuck/treacle.”   


  
Shiro took a visible step back. “The tests are ready for you to check, sir.”   


  
“Wicked!” Coran sprung into standing, picked the pile of paper from Shiro’s arms and ran outside.    


  
That was….a sight to comprehend, Lance wasn’t going to blame Shiro’s nonplussed staring. He cleared his throat a bit before addressing the hall again.    


  
“Remain seated. When your name is called, please proceed to the circular hall way of administrative building. There, Lady Allura will personally observe your practical skill.”    


  
Commotion sprang up and didn’t seem to be dying anytime soon. Shiro didn’t do anything to regain control of the noise level either. He instead leant against the wall and looked, to the world, taking a nap. Lance caught the eyes of someone. He raised a surprised eyebrow, questioning. The guy shrugged helplessly in return and went back to bellowing out questions for Professor Joaquim, who oversaw the middle row. She merely fixed her glasses and didn’t make a comment. All teachers were doing that actually, facing questions firing their way in the frenzy of a hungry pack of hyenas with the calm of a rock. Lance didn’t join in, he instead put his stuff away into his backpack, ready to leave once they were free. Now he knew why they were allowed to bring bags and phones up to their place. No help could be seek out for that type of personal question. 10 minutes in. Coran hadn’t returned and probably wouldn’t for the at least 30 minutes. Lance pulled his hoodie over his head. He could do with a nap, to postpone the guilt munching him inside out. He barely closed his eyes when noises forced him to open them again. He looked up. Coran had returned, a trembling smile on his face, wig sitting too far right and monocle dangling on his chest.    


  
“Mitch Strother, Shauna Cohn, Arlean Rust and Lance McClain, follow me.” Coran said, choked up and sniffled a little.    


  
Lance knew his eyes must be like cheese wheels. He didn’t expect his name to be called. He looked to the other three, all are from advanced class, and saw them giving each other wary and competitive glances. And they all stepped towards Coran, who was now blowing his nose on a handkerchief. Not a reaction Lance expected but okay. Someone clapped their hand. Shiro was the only one clapping. Lance pinked. Then someone from the students started clapping too. It spread like fire in a firework factory and then there was clapping, whistling and congratulations flying around, a congratulations Lance never expected he could be at the receiving end, but he took it in stride, blowing kisses in all directions. Someone in good humor imitated catching it and fainting. Lance shot him a finger gun in appreciation. He noticed Iverson’s intense glower. Lance didn’t know what got into him but he winked, *winked*, at Iverson. The searing glare he got in returned was great.    


  
Coran cleared his throat from the doorway, and wiped at his eyes. The other three had already left. Lance hurriedly left too. No one said anything on the way to the main building. Chilly wind blew across the lawn. Lance zipped his jacket up. It was getting colder and colder. Winter was drawing near. Coran opened the door to the administration building for them and led Mitch into the room. Lance was left waiting with Shauna and Arlean in the hall way. They didn't say any words to each other. Lance didn;t mind that either, he was occupied with thinking of a transmutation that could blow Allura away, not that the clap alchemy was't awesome enough but the result still needed to be as good as the technique. Not even a minute later, Mitch returned with the most unreadable expression Lance had ever seen.    


  
"How was it man?" Shauna asked in cordiality, information gethering as ever. 

Lance waited for the answer.    


  
"Weird." Mitch finally said. "It was like Lady Altea is not all there. She didn't even pay attention to my alchemy."    


  
"Okay, now that was rude." Arlean chimed in.    


  
"No, I get her, she seemed to be in deep thought or something. Probably things at the research center you know." Mitch shook his head, his bell earrings clinking together. "Anyway, do your best. Peace."  And then Mitch was gone, excusing himself out of the building and left.    


  
Shauna was the next to be called in. And again, she came out with a confused expression.    
"Same like Mitch. But Lady Allura can slay all the models in the fashion industry right now. Good luck you two."    


  
Arlean came in and came out right after. Lance stepped in and slapped Arlean's raised hand, a bit like the switching place moment but the meaning was not lost. Lance would do his best. The teacher longue was transformed into a spacious space. Lady Allura stood in the middle of the room, her white hair glowed like moonlight. She exuded wisdom and power. Lance didn't want to go any nearer. Lance had to admit, if he hadn't been so smitten for Keith now, he would flirt with Lady Allura. In a siple white dress and midnight shirt, she looked just like a goddess. 

  
"Show me." Allura said and Lance was sent to heaven and back again. He had heard Allura in videos and news, her voice had a magicism to it, deep, tonal and timeless. In real life, hwe voice was even more powerful and charming. 

  
Lance got closer, standing right in front of her but still quite a distance a part. He wasn't sure how  close he was allowed to stand within the presence of a loyalty. He chanced a glance at her. Directly in front, he had a perfect view to the glowing marks on her cheeks, a crescent moon just right beneath her eyes, glowing a soft blue like mycelin mushroom. The mark of the chosen, medias had started to call them. The signs of someone with great alchemy prowess and power.    
He took a deep breath. 4-7-8 breathing. The energy was here, he could feel it floating over to him until it was close enough for him to latch onto a thread. *There!* He grabbed hold of it and locked on. Slowly, he brought his hands together, gently pushing the energy onto the tips of his fingers. Then his fingers were touching, his body now a circuit, on and ready to transmute. He hoped Allura had a sense liked roses.    


  
He didn't get the chance to transmute anything. Allura's hands, long slender fingers wrapping tightly around his wrists, keeping his hands in place. She was suddenly very very close and Lance felt his mind let out a happy squeal and promptly die, living everyhting that was going to happen next at the mercy of his messy heart.    


  
"L-Lady Allura!" He managed to say and her eyes immediately snapped to his, an intense nebula pink with flecks of sky blue. "Wha-?"    


  
"Who taught you this?" She asked through gritted teeth, tightening her hold around his wrists. "This isn't knowedge disclosed to anyone outside of the Mamoras and Alteas. The finger touch was a technique only a special few was made aware."    


  
The fear that had been keeping Lance fled. In its place, protection slid right in. Keith taught him this. Somehow Keith had gotten a hold of top secret knowledge and didn;t know it was top secret and spread this to Lance. He was not going to involve Keith in this mess.    
"I taught myself." He answered with as much conviction as he could, staring dead straaaight into Lady Allura's heated gaze.    


  
"Lies," She said, eyes narrowing. She was scary. "No one knows about this except for me, my advisor and my brother. I'll ask again. Where is my brother?"   
Lance didn't know what to make of that question. He never heard of a brother of Allura.    


  
"Lance," This time, Lady Allura's voice trembled as her visage crumbled. Her eyes already wet with tears. "Please. I need to see my brother. I need to apologize."    
Then tears were streaming freely down her cheeks, uncontrolled and freely. Normally if a lady ever shed a single tear in front of him, he would comfort her as best as he could, but not now. Especially not right now. He was very confused right now.    


  
"Brother? You don't have a brother?" He asked, taking his hands back from her hold.    


  
She let him leave easily, bringing her hands close to her chest as she sobbed.    


  
"I do, Lance. I do. I miss him so much." Lady Allura said through tears, her eyes dawn steeped in dew, watery pink. "I was forced to leave him. I need to apologize to him. 20 years too late but I need to tell him."   


 

Something sounds strangely familiar here. 20 years? Didn't Keith first appeared at the orphanage when he was around three something? Keith was now 23. This was infinitely odd. "When did you get separated?" 

 

Allura hitched a breath that sounded a lot like a self-depreciating laugh. "Summer. Time concepts has lost their meaning to me a century ago."

 

  
"And his name?" Lance couldn't believe this. If this was going the way he believed it was going to go, then-    


  
Allura drew herself into her full height, combining with her heels, she towered over Lance. A regal pose. "Keith Izem Areli Casimir Altea, heir to the Alteas and my half brother," she added more fondly,  "my lovable idiotic brother with the brightest smile I have ever seen."   


* * *

Lance watched Shiro pace around the room, glaring at Allura occasionally. Matt sat at the dining table, his mouth hanging half opened for the last 20 minutes gazing Allura, who sat cross-legged on the sofa with the most regally pissed-off look Lance had ever been witness to. 

  
  
They were back in Keith and Shiro's apartment again. Only this time, unlike most other time with an air of comfort and ease, it was filled with anticipation and anger. Lance sequestered himself against the other side of the sofa, trying to stay as far away as possible from Lady Allura. He had intended to stand when she had taken a seat at the end of the sofa but one stern look from her convince to leave his ass where it was, so Lance sat there, coiled like a hydraulic-pressured spring, ready to move at the slightest slip. He looked to the balcony. Hunk and Pidde was outside  with Keith. He wanted to be there for Keith too, but Hunk had shook his head minutely and motioned for him to stay put. He didn't know why but Hunk knew this emotional theory better than he did so he would leave everything in Hunk's control. and Pidge's, a surprising help but a help no matter what. Lance glanced back at Allura again, studying her with as much subtlety as he could. She appeared to be as cool and composed as ever, hands crossed on her thighs and back straight. She acted as if the breaking down didn't happen. That was something straight out of a drama.    


  
When Lance had reluctantly led Allura to Keith's apartment. And Keith was the one who opened the door as Lance had expected, Allura had shouldered him to the side and took Keith's face in her hand. The surprise in Keith was palplable if he didn't do anything and allow Allura to turn his face sideways. Whatever she saw there was all it took to reduce into a sobbing chaos. She hung her head down and cried, tears dropping like rain around the toes of her shoes. She apologized through hiccups. Keith raised a hand to hesitantly pat her shoulders. Lady Allura cried harder, and she collapsed onto the floor. Keith fumbled around, a flurry of hands not knowing what to do. He shot him a look that screamed 'help me.' but Lance shrugged, even as it crushed him to see that helpless look on Keith's face, and took a step back. This was not his problem to wedge himself in. And Allura dropped the bomb in the bluntest, most Keith-like way possible. Lance merely dropped his head onto his hands and groaned. When he looked back up again, Keith was gone and the balcony door slid shut with anger, or whichever emotions Keith was feeling.    


  
Lance looked at Allura. Her feature was as stony as ever. He glanced out to the balcony. Keith still had his back to them. He moved his gaze to the dining table. Shiro was digging a trench by walking only; Matt hadn't gotten over his surprise. Lance bit his thumb, the only finger with a fraction of nail left ready to be bitten completely off. Everything was at a stalemate now.   


  
"So," Lance started; he never liked awkward silence much, "Matt has an altar for you in his room."    


  
Lance didn't regret saying that because it cracked a fissure at Lady Allura's marble like feature.    


  
"Oh." She looked towards Matt, tilting her head to the side, an tick so similar to Keith it threw Lance out of a loop. "I supposed I should say thank you?"   
Matt would probably strangle him later, if he survived the dying screech he was releasing first. Shiro stopped in his track and looked at Matt with an appalled look. The tension was thereby broken.    


  
"You saved every speech made by Alfor Altea, and now Lady Altea as well?" Shiro's eyes twitched sporadically.   


  
"Shiro do not lie to me." Matt wheezed out, jabbing a finger repeatedly in the air in front of Shiro. "I know you hoard all the newspaper clip like some conspiracy theorists you really are."   


  
Shiro shook his head and looked skywards as he resumed his digging. "Those are for my research. I'm very unlike you."    


  
"Bulls."

  
Besides him, Lady Allura shifted, discomfort lining her face.  "The only research of mine that is worth mentioning is my medical application of alchemy." She ran her thumb over the knuckles, the ring adorning adorning her thumbs an intricate one that covered the most of her thumb like an armor. "Even then, I should not be given credits for that. It is my father who begun the practice. I merely perfect what already exists."     


  
Lance balked. This Lady Allura was so different than the self-assured one he had been in the presence a mere hour ago in the big hall. Now, in a quaint living room surrounded by daily life objects and sitting on a sofa so not befitting for her, she seemed more...human, closer to them all, and much much younger.    
The balcony door slid open. Lance whipped his head around fast enough to creak his neck and give himself whiplash on top of that. Pidge and Hunk piled in first, both shared a strained glance between them. Hunk walked around the coffee table and sat down on one of the chair at the dining table. Pidge, the outlaw and social norms disregarder as ever, pulled the coffee table in front of the sofa further and sat crossed-leg on top of it. Keith stood his ground, at the threshold between the balcony and the living room, his expression set in an iceberg that sent chills crawling up and down Lance's spine, the hair on his neck all standing up. The tension dropped back in ten fold the intensity. No one made a noise again.    


  
Keith was not scary, he might act cool and composed but he was a socially inept walking supermarket basket. Keith could never scare him. But this Keith, this was the Keith Lance never wanted to see. Confused, angry, and scared enough that he hid all his emotions beneath spires of ice. Lance was half out of his seat when the entrance door banged against the wall with so much force the lights flickered, the door that was supposed to be locked from the inside. Coran flew in, a trail of orange and eye-jarring denim blue, babbling incoherently. He tackled Keith at his waist and just cried, who didn't have time or enough brain cells to react and stood his ground,  only the tips of his toes touched the ground. 

  
"Keith, my boy, Coran said through tears and throaty sniffles. "I miss you so much. You look so much like my great great great aunt Liala with her hair all pointed outwards like that. I will make you more juniberry juice when we get back to the estate, you used to pick all the juniberry's buds and chewed them like a rabbit-."   
:"I'm not going anywhere.": Keith extracted himself from Coran's watery hold and stood himself against the corner. :"I want explanation":    
Lance knew that stance; arms crossed, eyes roaming around the room. Keith was calculating his escape, a trapped wolf, wary and scared of everyone. It pained him, much more than he thoght, that Keith considered him an enemy also. Lance sat down again but didn't take his eyes off Keith, who was eyeing a sniffling Coran with unease.    
"Keith-" Allura stood up but an fiery glare from Keith stopped her from moving closer. Her aloofness crumbled.    


  
:"Who are you? Last I remembered, you don't have any sibling.": Keith cut her off with a mulish glare, eyeing Allura through his bangs with much disbelief and hesitance.    
Lady Allura withheld a pained cry. Lance wasn't fooled, he was sitting close enough to her to see how white the tips of her fingers had become in their hold of the back of the sofa.    


  
"You are my brother." She choked back a cry and continued. "Always has been and always will be."   


  
:"Then why did you leave me?":   


  
Allura started to say something but stopped herself, pain lining her features. "I never wanted to." She cried.    


  
:"Why? If I'm so important to you, then why.": Keith's nails left red marks on his bare forearms. He took a visible strangled breath and stepped away from the wall. :"Forget it. The door is six steps to your 1 o'clock.":    


  
"Keith-" Allura tried to reach for him when he walked by but Keith took a wide berth away from her.    
And then he was gone, vanishing into his room with a thump of door snapping shut.    


  
Silence reigned until Shiro stood up and came to stand in front of the Lady Allura.   


  
"I think you owe us an explanation."    
  


* * *

_Honerva Haggar set the foundation for Alchemy in 1357. Together with her brother Alfor Altea, they perfected the art and gave themselves names as the first Alchemists. 1361 saw the reunion of Honerva Altea and Zarkon Galra. In commemoration of the joyous event, Alfor and Honerva had decided, after much dispute and argument, to spread the knowledge of Alchemy to the town. Words spread fast, and before long, the name of Alteas and Galras had garnered admiration and worshippers far and wide. Jealousy, however,  was not far behind. Assassins paid visits everyday. Miraculously, none Alteas nor Galras was murdered. Until one night, Zarkon was stabbed in the heart protecting Alfor, he passed away. Alfor, tortured by his brother's death, in everything but blood, created the basis of medical alchemy. Honerva grieved for 100 days. On day 101, she attempted to transmute her husband back to life. Anything that a human body was composed of, she bought them. She had everything except for what made Zarkon, Zarkon, something his, something not even a hair or a piece of bone contained. That night, Horneva sacrificed her own daughter for her husband._ _   
  
It was the most intricate and haunting circle of transmutation witnessed. Spanning over two fields  of grass and drawn in animal blood. Horneva stood in the circle, a pitiful mad gaze in her eyes. Before the witness of Alfor, Horneva brought her hands down on the ground, right over the heart of her daughter, calling Zarkon's name repeatedly. Things did not go as plan, Zarkon should have stood there, in all his liveliness and welcomed her with love and open arms. She did not expect a gate of white. White light spread across the transmutation circle. Bursting forth, haze of mist and breezy laughter evaporated at first contact with light. Then the world rumbled and cried out for an order disorganized. Flocks of birds of lights with beaks of bones and wings of lava streamed forth from the hole and chased after the mist, only there was no mist, only a disappointed Honerva. They descended on her.    
  
"Where are they?" The birds screeched as an entity, their screamed travelled across the sea. A tidal wave traveled and submerged an island country.  "Where are our treasured souls?"   
"Gone!" Horneva screamed at the top of her lungs. "Return my love to me!"  _

_   
"Malapert fool." The birds flapped their wings,  wind streamed forth, typhoons bedeviled coastal towns. "You will pay for losing our treasure."    
  
One bird at the front tore through Horneva's body with its claws. She didn't have time to scream before her body flowed like dark liquid into the portal the birds came from.   
  
Then they turned to Alfor, stupefied by what he saw.  _

_   
_ _"You have her blood. You will pay in her stead."_   


  
"That's why nothing was written for year 1434. History blanked out as the world was covered in the darkness of phoenix wings searching for a lost treasure of souls. The disappearing mist was what it was, a collection of souls from the beginning of humankind, long long time ago. They have amassed a great number of souls and looked over them as one would admire a field of flowers. They demanded the same number of souls back. Killing will not do, they want the lost back. They put a curse on all Alteas. To live a life far too long and search for the lost souls. I was 6 years old when the curse was out upon us. Now, I may look 23 but I have lived for over five centuries and look to be unreleased from this curse for another 10 centuries."   


  
The silence that stuck at her final words choked Lance. Alteas' history was supposed to be less dark, to be more of masquerade and luxe castles, not this horror tragedy.    


  
"You age 19 times slower." Pidge calculated, sliding off the table to lean against its legs, in deep thought.    
Hunk crumbled to the floor, face white as paper.    


  
"So phoenixes are-" Lance swallowed, looking at the emblem still pinned to his chest. A majestic, noble bird he once thought but was apparently not. "-evil?"   
Allura spared a pointed glare at the pin before diverting her gaze to the side. "The vilest creatures."   


  
"How does Keith came into this?" Shiro had his fists by his side, seemingly compressing his anger into a single molecule, easily ignored.    


  
The question hit its mark, Allura broke apart like rock dropped on porcelain. Tears streamed forth from her eyes. "He helped a soul escape the clutch of death, denying the phoenixes another soul to their collection. I am uncertain as to the entire story, the phoenixes refused to answer."   


"The scars at the back of his neck." Shiro put a hand over his own neck, face pale with anger. " The phoenixes did that."   


  
"They had him pinned, I screamed for him. He tried to escape. The phoenix slashed at his neck. The one holding me back twisted off my arm when I tried to run for him. They hissed 'Return the soul to us' before tossing him out into the rain as a barrier intended for me rose up. I could not get into the city until now. This must have been Keith had encountered the lost soul."

  
For Lance, right at that moment, time slowed down as Shiro delivered a slap on Allura. Matt moved to held him back, pushing Shiro to the back as Coran took to Allura's side and sent withering glare Shiro's way, who seemed unfazed.    


  
"You should have tried harder, m'lady. You have caused my adopted brother so much pain a millennium of apology could never erase."   


  
Allura was silent, she rattled like a tree in earthquake. A hysteric cry escaped her.    


  
"I should have kept a better eye on Ketih. I should have let that assassin too the witch life. I should have done so many things. So many many things."    
Her cry choked him. Shiro had his fists by his side as frustrated tears streamed down his face. Lance covered his mouth with his hand to halt a choke, the behind of his eyes hot with boiling tears. He must not cry. He knew Keith wouldn't appreciate the pity anyway. Hunk sobbed into his curled knees and Pidge tched repeatedly. He was the only one to notice Keith standing in the doorway of his room, his hair hiding his face completely. Lance wanted to come to Keith but he couldn't make himself talk. He sat there, studying the figure in half shadow. Keith swayed to Allura, who stood up to see him. Keith stood before her but didn't say anything. No one said anything.    


  
:"Take me to see Alfor Altea,": Keith demanded, the robotic voice from the circlet adding to the unnaturalness of this entire situation.    


  
"We shall." Allura agreed, and stepped out of the doorway Coran had opened for her. 

 

:"Stay, Lance. I'll be back.": Keith looked at him, a waterfall held at bay with paper. Keith tried for a reassuring smile and then he was gone.    


  
Lance wanted to scream as his legs crumbled beneath him. Keith should be the one crying and he should be the one being strong for Keith, not the other way around.   


* * *

When Keith returned, Lance was the only one stubbornly camping out in the living room. Matt had dragged Pidge back to their house. And Hunk too had left for the cafe, baking the stress away most definitely. Shiro was out the moment Keith and Allura was driven away. No one knew where he went.

 

But the fact remained that Lance was the only one stubbornly sat crosslegged on the sofa, on the spot Keith usually had and played with his phone, Red sleeping in his laps. His gaze flickered to the sketchbook half opened on the ground, right in the page of a butterfly. He frowned, picking the book up, knowing full well Keith would not like it. The butterfly exuded mystery with its frilly wings and long thread towards the very back. It tickled at the back of his mind. Something about this butterfly sparked at his memory, of a hug and sunlight. Lance flicked to a new page, hoping to see more of the butterfly. The sketch of the scythe right behind it stopped his breathing, a scythe with far too wide blade and much too long handle. There were too little bell around on the handle. This was the scythe Keith had dropped when Lance first came here asking for a tutor. So it wasn't the trick of the light or his hallucination, Keith definitely had this scythe. Lance flicked to the page behind, in search for more sketch knowing full well Keith would eviscerate him on the spot, and snapped it shut at what he saw. Butterfly bounced around in his stomach, drunkenly doing loopy-loop. One sober butterfly guided his hand to the  sketchbook again. Lance let it have control, blinking rapidly to check if he hadn't got lost in a dream, because right there, on a page was him, carefully sketched in charcoal, arms wide and a small smile on his face as wind whipped his hair and jacket back. He ran a hand over it. He recognized the background. It was the shaggy bush and sharp outcrop of rocks at the coast where they had their out-of-season camping. His finger smoothed over the little heart Keith had at the bottom near his signature. Lance took a picture of the sketch, putting the focus on the heart and Keith's wide signature, and put his phone away. He needed to back it up soon, Hunk would babble with Keith if he ever saw the pic. 

  
The door clicked open. Lance pivoted around and hid the sketchbook behind his back, apology and meaningless babble on the tip of his tongue but the sight of Keith, devastated and confused, asphyxiated him. Keith stumbled fully into the living room, stiff like a piece of wood, lacking all the fluid and grace he usually carried himself in. Keith didn't look at him once, falling down onto the sofa. He unclasped the circlet and put it on the table. Then he sat, stock still, probably not even thinking, lost in the avalanche of emotion.    


  
Lance had prepared to break the silence when Keith spoke, broken and hoarse but he spoke, with difficulty and the syllables blurred together.   


  
"Alfor." Keith breathed out the name then visibly took a shuddering breath. "Farther. Passedaway."    


  
The meaning of the words didn't register in Lance's mind immediately. They bounced around, oil drops not mixing in with water until Lance gave it a good cocktail shake then they reluctantly mixed together for a short while. But that was enough for him to understand Keith's barely held together composure, a temporal ice pellet that melted upon a feather light touch of finger.   


  
He sat down next to Keith, their thighs touching. Slow like the lullaby grandma sang him in sweltering summer days, Lance hummed    


  
”Through the wind and darkness   
All the trees are singing   
To the might of you heart   
For you are my only   
I’ll forever be with you.”   


  
Little by little, he guided Keith to rest on his shoulders, humming the tune even though he had forgotten the lyrics. A lullaby of protection. He kept humming still, until the lullaby came to an end, until the living room bled away, until his sole attention was on Keith, until that held-up, illusionary form of imperturbability finally went through crack and ruin. . . Until Keith shivered against his side. Until he began to cry. Keith bent forward and pressed a hand against his knee to ground himself, the other clutching at his heart. He cried with the force of a person vomiting on all four, disgorging all the emotions in him so he didn’t have to feel the pain. 

  
  
Lance tightened his hold around Keith. He felt useless, helpless. Nothing he said could help. Nothing he did could help. The only thing he could do was be a rock, an emotionified rock, so Keith could lean against him and cry. Keith coughed hoarsely, tears running dry. He said something. Lance made out the words "sorry" in repetition. He didn't know if it was meant for him or someone else. He didn't say anything. Instead he eased Keith to lean back against the sofa, when it looked like he had retched out his pent up emotions of who knew how long Keith had closed them off for. Keith shook. The first thing he said when he brought his breathing under control again was another sorry. Lance wanted to snap him into wakefulness. Keith should not be sorry for anything. Why the damn hell was he apologizing. *Do not ever apologize to me, Keith!* Lance wanted to shake him by the shoulders like one would shake a bag of chips to get all the crumbs of savory, to knock the truth to Keith's mind. Keith should not be sorry for crying.    


  
Lance didn't get the chance to do any of that, for Keith took a deep breath and said, short but complete coherent sentences even though his voice was still thick with lumps.    


  
"He said sorry. He kept saying sorry. He held my hands tight. His smile trembled. He held my face. He said sorry again. Then he let go and closed his eyes." Keith's voice cracked. He wiped his eyes and snorted with the sleeves of his jacket. "Sorry."    


  
Lance did do something this time. He pecked a kiss on Keith's forehead, light and quick like a hummingbird pitching to the sun in their adventure to woo a mate, a dazzling dashing emerald fireball.    


  
"Don't ever say sorry, Keith." He drew back, taking Keith's hand in his own and rubbing circles on the covered-skin of his palm. His fingers ran through litter of crescent indentations. Now he knew why Keith liked wearing gloves. Now Lance loved them stupid, antediluvian gloves, too. "You have nothing to be sorry for."    


  
Keith stared at their joined hand. He didn't say anything, even when Lance started running his finger in a heart shape instead of a circle. Lance let the quiet draw on, never stop hearting Keith, figuratively and literally. He looked around the room. At the wee hour between night and morning, nothing seemed real. There was too much quiet, too much space, and yet too little time for thoughts. He was never a night-owl; morning haze and first rays of sunlight allured him, a newness and beginning. Keith lived in the dark, tracing the shadow and un-light with the grace of a star. Lance might have started to love the night too.    


  
Something hot and wet splattered on his knuckles. Lance jolted, his heart-drawing taking a triangle turn. Keith hang his head over their joined hand, tears drizzling down and catching the lights, shimmering like specks of crystal. Gently, Lance wound his arms around Keith's back, once so sure and steady, now so scared and frail. Lance wondered how long ago Keith had let himself be vulnerable and unguarded like this. He wound his fingers around Keith's biceps and gently eased himself to a lie on the sofa, taking a malleable Keith down with him and wiggling somewhat so Keith's head was right above his chest. Lance evened out his breathing; Dad used to hold him close and let him hear the soothing thump of the heart exactly like this whenever he had bad dream. It worked for him. He hoped it work for Keith, too. All he needed to have was patience and calm.    


  
Keith sniffled, wiping his face on Lance's chest. Lance didn't mind it the wetness and snot; he threaded his fingers into the bush of hair, for once obedient and smooth, and hummed a made-up cheerful tune. The tune was dangerously dipping into a commercial jingle when Keith let out a strange noise, like air being released from a balloon. Lance stopped his humming. Keith didn’t move, letting out that strange shrill noise again. Lance brushed a finger along Keith’s forehead, craning his head up to see if Keith’s eyes were closed or not. The eyes were shut tight. The noise came up again, from Keith’s half opened mouth. Lance blinked, once, twice, then bit his hand to stop his laughter from waking Keith.    


  
That was snoring noise! Keith snored! No one ever said his snores were this funny.    


  
Even though his hand throbbed, Lance didn’t dare remove it from the chokehold between his teeth. Keith nuzzled into the crook of Lance’s arm in his sleep and let out an incredibly long wheeze. Lance thought he could laugh himself to his early grave; trying not to laugh was the hardest challenge ever created. When his throat seemed like it was’t going to set itself on fire with whips of restraint laughter, Lance picked his head up to assess the situation of his legs. Keith had his own legs stretched out over the arm rest, but Lance’s legs were on the floor, numb with inactivity.    


  
_This was an uncomfortable position,_ Lance thought, as he grabbed his legs in his hand, string of needles scrapping along the skin, and moved them on the sofa.    


  
His heart beat like crazy when he got his legs all set on the sofa, pins and cactus spines pony-trotting all over his calves. He hated when his limbs fell asleep. Though for what he was attempting, he only needed his arms. Lance wrapped both hands around Keith’s back securely and gradually turned to his side, setting Keith’s gently down onto the soft sofa mattress and taking a nice long breath. He loved having Keith draping fully on top of him but he did value his ability to breathe and to keep his heart beating at a calming pace; this was a sacrifice Lance was willing to make.    


  
Keith moved. Lance felt his heart stop beating. Apology and lullaby were prepared and ready to lull Keith back to sleep; but Keith merely snuggled deeper against the crook of his neck, soft hair tickling underneath Lance’s chin. He let out a soft sigh, no air-letting-out-of-balloon snore this time - thank Altea, Lance would laugh out loud for sure if he heard the peculiar snore just one more time and wake Keith up. Lance placed a kiss on top the fluff of hair; some strands stuck to his lips. He couldn’t care less, he was going to press his face into that mess again and again anyway, softer than cotton candy and more real than intangible cloud.    


  
Lance fell asleep with his face pressed against Keith’s hair, scent of apple spearmint motor oil floating in his dream and chasing away all the unpleasant memory.    


* * *

  
A foot   


  
The lower extremity of the leg below the ankle, on which a person stood or walked.   


  
A foot with five toes was what Lance woke up to cradling and pressing his cheek against.    


  
He bolted right up and promptly found himself on the floor, hand hitting against something hard. It was painful, but his mind wasn’t all there to register the pain just yet. Lance blinked blearily, squinting to see around the room. Light cascaded through the cracks between curtains. The lamps had been switched off. He didn’t remember walking towards the switch nor did he remember having a blanket anywhere on his body. And now there was a dark blue one tangling around his legs. He untangled it, feeling the cotton underneath his fingers and threw it on top of Keith, who slept on obliviously to the world. A jaw dislocating yawn broke free. Lance stretched to his heart content, elbows cracking and ears popping. He heaved himself up and bent over, fingers touching the tip of his toes. Now he was awake. Wringing the stinging pain out of his hand, he made his way over to the bathroom. No toothbrush so he compromised with mouthwash; also no care product he could leech off so he reluctantly made do with splashing plain water on his face. His skin was going to suffer after this. The wood groaned thunderously as Lance shuffled back into the joint kitchen and  living room to get started on breakfast. Red was the only one woken up by the sound, she blinked cat-ly at him then went back to sleep. Lance peaked inside the fridge; pyramid of eggs and carton of tomatoes and a loaf of bread greeted him. Good enough breakfast.    


  
It was challenging enough as it was to make breakfast without exploding the kitchen; making breakfast without exploding the kitchen *while being silent*? Bring on the game. Lance turned on the light above the stove and started opening cabinets looking for pan and everything else. He wasn’t going to attempt something crazy, Hunk-skill-level cooking; just pan roasted tomato and fried eggs on toast. He made a portion for Shiro, who must have came home last night and dragged out the blanket over the two of them.    


  
A rumbling noise came up from his stomach at the nice smell from the toast. Oil jumped and popped all over the place. Lance chanced a glance at Keith, still sleeping in the same position, and turned back to the sizzling eggs and tomato. He half-hoped Keith would come up from behind, wind strong arms around his waist, and murmur into his ears a sleepy good morning; but he knew Keith needed sleep.   


  
He was gingerly putting an egg on the piece of toast when the door to Shiro’s room clicked open.    


  
“Quiet Shiro, Keith’s sti-“    


  
“He never loses the habit. Even after all these years.”   


  
Lance froze, the egg sliding off the spatula and flopping sunny side down onto the toast, golden yolk running onto the plate. That voice wasn’t Shiro.   


  
“Good morning, Lance.” Allura came up from behind him and opened the tap, filling a cup with water. “Lovely breakfast you make. You should have roused me. Another pair of hands would hasten the process.”   


  
Lance shoved the dishes behind him, not sure why he was doing that. Allura had already all the plates and the dish so why was he be bothered to hide them. And he was merely doing breakfast and not something illegal.    


  
"Allura!" Lance screeched, unconsciously letting his voice climb higher than he realized and brought it back to the whisper again. "I didn't know you are here."    


  
"I came in last night, the door was unlocked." Allura pulled a chair at the table and sat down, glancing at the sleeping Keith before returning her eyes to the Lance again. "You woke up to greet me and showed my some place I could sleep in."    


  
Lance blinked. That was not what he remembered that happened. Actually no, he didn't remember any of that. BUt that could explain why he had his face pressed against Keith's foot this morning. He made a small 'Oh', not knowing anything else to say and turned back to sprinkle  more pepper into the already full of pepper eggs. In the normal kitchen, with barely any lights, Allura seemed just like any normal person and not the sort of royalty in the modern world. For someone who had just woken up, her hair was already in perfect shape, not a single strand out of the tight bun she kept together with some sparkly pin that rocked around whenever she moved her head. The only thing that could tell she had been asleep was the mark of a binder notebook on the left side of her cheek. She had changed her yesterday dress into something less formal but still looked expensive as hell, dress pants and shirt. The silence dragged on. The only thing sound was the sound of pepper jumping around the shaker and the quiet sip of water. Lance had always hated awkward silence. 

  
"How was your sleep then?" This was marginally better than talking about weather, he was certain. Asking after someone was always his go to conversation starter. 

  
"Pleasantly short and succinct. Shiro's table makes quite a nice resting place. No Lance, you did tell me I could sleep in the bed but I couldn't sleep so I started working instead."

  
The horror that had prepared to stabbed his conscience to death dropped its knife and slinked away. "Oh."    


  
If he had pointed at the desk and told Allura to sleep there, he was going to buy a spaceship with all his pocket money and fly himself to the stars and hide there forever. Telling a royalty, a very important person to sleep on the desk? Dad was going to wring his neck if he ever knew about this.    


"I make a spare breakfast. You should eat with us." Lance hesitantly pushed the least peppered egg on tomato toast to Allura and put the other two equally peppered to himself and Keith. "I'm going to wake Keith up." 

  
Allura nodded. "I'm going to get water and milk."    


  
Lance balked, even standing up was graceful for her. Keith slept on oblivious, too quiet and too still. Lance smiled, he never knew Keith was a deep sleeper. Lance brushed his bangs behind his ears, saying his name.    


  
"Breakfast ready, Keithy cat." When that didn't work, Lance said it a bit louder, pulling out the syllables. "Keiiiiiiiiith, waaaaaaaaaaaaake up." 

  
No reaction. Lance bit his lips, frowning. He shook Keith's shoulders. His head's lolled with the movement but he didn't give ant outward reaction. Fear, fast like oiled lightning and swift like a fire consuming diesel, gripped Lance's shoulders and bit down, hard. 

  
"Keith!" L ance said, louder, more desperate, slapping Keith's cheeks. There was radio silence.

 

"Keith! Wake up!" 

  
"Step aside." And then Allura was there, professional and firm, pushing him to the side. Her push was a gentle nudge but Lance fell sideway anyway, landing on his arms and just lying there, staring up her growing concern face as she did experimental test. 

  
Lance prayed, to God and deities dad knew the name of to protect Keith even though Keith was not under their protection in any shapes or forms.   


  
When Allura dropped back down with the most confused face Lance had ever seen her in, fear gripped his throat with its gnarled fingers and tightened. 

  
"Wha-" he cleared his throat. "What happened?"    
  


Allura dropped her hands into her laps, staring straight ahead at Keith and whispered, near hysterically. "I-I don't know. *Nothing* is wrong with him. It was as if he slipped into a coma in coma in his sleep."   


  
Sound blurred around his hearing, the world shimmered in front of his face. Coma? What? No, impossible, Keith was talking to him yesterday, holding his hand and pressing his face against Lance. No this wasn't real. This couldn't be happening.    


  
"Coma?" Lance repeated the word out loud, as if somehow saying the words out in the air could shatter this fake reality and brought him back to the world where Keith was already awake and now told him this was all just a mean prank.   


  
Allura said nothing. She took Keith's hand in hers and started feeling the vein, a desperate move kind of, a last resort to deny the reality. 

  
"When will he wake up?" Lance couldn't stand the not science. His hands shook. His voice shook. His everything shook. He wants to force up whatever remained in his stomach up. 

This time Allura did look at him, a scared, confused, worried, desperate look in her wild gaze.    


"I don't know." She put a hand over her mouth to halt a loud sob. "I don't know."   


* * *

Lance walked through the late morning with the consciousness of a cat high on catnip and could not control their action. He passed by without any thoughts of how he got to where he was. At one point, Shiro, Matt and Pidge stumbled into the room and looked around with harried looks. They sent questioning glares at him. Lance only gazed straight forward, to the closed door to Keith's room, where he was lying, comatose, and being examined by a personal doctor of the Alteas. Shiro came to stood by his side as Pidge crawled down to the floor to peek inside the room through the cracks below the door. Allura sat solemnly like a statue at the dining table with Coran standing right behind her, hands placed squarely on her shoulders. They all waited, no one said a word. Outside the world moved on with the din of cars and people.  No one was aware. No one gave a damn. No one cared. Except for the six of them.    


  
Sometime, days, hours, minutes, months, later, the doctor, Slav, stepped out and noise began anew as they all scrambled around to hear the verdict. 

  
"Slav, cut to the chase. What is going on? Coma didn't happen unannounced like that."    


  
"Princess, in another reality with new diseases and new race of beings, that is not that unbelievable. The chance of slipping into a coma is 23,46282 times higher. As per my calculation-"   
  
"Doctor," Shiro grounded out, actually growled, "What's going on with my brother?"    


  
Slav took a worried step back and put his hands in front of his chest as if warding of Shiro. "I don't know. Really! I don't know. This is the first time I have encountered such thing. The scans show normal brain wave and no internal injuries."   


  
"Normal brain waves? Then why-?" Allura shook her head lightly.    


  
"There is something trapping him in his mind."    


* * *

Nothing changed much over the next few days. Lance still went to school, did his homework, and ate and drank water religiously. The only thing that changed was the place he slept. Lance had claimed the sofa in Keith and Shiro's apartment as his and started camping there. Pidge, Hunk and Matt stayed in the apartment most of the day too, only going back to their respective place to sleep for eight hours before reappearing again. Allura had suggested bringing Keith back to the Alteas' property, where they have all proper equipment and larger space. Shiro agreed but Lance  stepped between them and demanded Keith to be here. That was his possessiveness, his worry, his fear of losing Keith. *Let Keith stay here for another week. School is ending in a week. You are rich; get all the new equipment here and all the doctors. I don't want to stay away from him,* Lance had argued, tears boiling behind his eyes. _Please._   


  
One week.    


  
Allura had agreed to let Keith stay here for one week before flying him back to the estate on the other side of the world.    
One week for Keith to wake up.    


  
Lance had no medical knowledge, but he had seen enough movies, with Pidge and Hunk's assent, to know that talking to coma patient could potentially help. So everyday, right after school, he ran to the apartment, landed himself on the chair on Keith's bedside and talked, mundane things, new recipes Hunk found, deals he found at the shop, Shiro first time ever raising his voice in a class, Pidge's new found sleeping spot in the library. He talked and talked. Keith slept and slept. Sometimes words died on his lips when he glanced at Keith, still and lifeless. But he choked back a sob and continued.    


  
"I told you about my sister, Veronica, right? She is amazing, she can toss me over her shoulders and bench press me. She walks with stilettos over grates on a daily basis. I love her so much. And she's getting married next month."   
Veronica, married. Away from home, starting her own family. He was very happy for her, of course he was. But that meant he would not get to see her every morning when he woke up and wouldn't have their ritual face care program and the constant shoving and yelling for space.    


  
"Right," Lance cleared his throat, not noticing he had stopped talking, "Married. And you know what the best part is? I get to be her bridesmaid. And another best part is that she still one short of the bridesmaid so I volunteer you. I know you would love it even though you would say you did not want to come. We gonna be wearing suits, Keith! Navy suits! It's going to be great."   


  
He took Keith's hand in his, so smooth. Did this guy have jellyfish in his diet or something?    


  
"So you have to wake up, okay? For me, please?"    


  
Lance couldn't help the disappointment pooling his guts as he slowly turned his head to look at Keith and found him still asleep, eyes still closed. He looked as peaceful as all the royals fallen into deep sleep waiting for that one kiss of the destined lover. Lance wanted to try but he knew this wasn't fairytale; and help was coming soon in the form of collective searching and studying everyone was conducting in the living room. Unconsciously, Lance had started tracing heart on Keith's palm again. He looked around the room, the only source of light came from the table lamp on the desk. A flower vase stood there with fresh flowers. Allura brought them in in the morning, she said something about a meaning but Lance hadn't paid attention to her. But Shiro made an appreciative noise as if he uncovered a century long mystery. Large orange fire color lilies stood in the vase, a vibrant corner in the otherwise empty personal-less room. There was hardly any pictures on the walls, no personal touch, a bare room. When Keith woke up, he was going to host a room makeover, whether Keith asked for it or not. Wind slipped inside through the crack between the two panes of windows; bone chilling evening winter air. Lance stood up, hissing as his knees popped like kernels in a buttered pan. His feet were cold even though he had socks on, a cold set in so deep he didn't think it would ever unfreeze. He peeked outside. Winter had enveloped the town completely, a haze of slowness and night darkness in the afternoon.    


  
"S-s-so cold-d." Lance mumbled, teeth chattering together as he pushed the window closed.   


  
Something, maybe a leaf slipped in. When he clicked the lock shut and bent down to find the leaf, there was nothing on the floor. He could have imagined it. He didn't get much sleep and was kind of expecting hallucination at this point. His hallucination was now telling him that there was a bright blue shining butterfly on Keith's forehead. Lance blinked, pinched his cheek and hissed. He wasn't dreaming then. There was definitely a butterfly, a glowing one at that. Carefully, he stood up and move to the door. Maybe Allura knew something about this. . . 

 

The joint room was covered in books, papers and computers; everyone occupied their own corner and was deep into research.    


 

"Allura," Lance whispered and winced as she jumped into the air, "There's a butter-"    


  
The butterfly was already flying towards Allura and landed on her knees. Allura studied it for a minute before letting out a surprised gasp.    


  
"You're a soul!"    


  
"A soul?" Matt crawled across the floor on all four, extending a finger to touch the wing but Allura slapped it away.    
"Don't be rude." Allura slapped his hand away. She turned back to the butterfly. "How come you can retain this form. This is peculiar indeed."   


  
The butterfly fluttered her wings before flying towards him and landing on his shoulders, her wings brushed on his cheeks and suddenly he was filled with warmth, a summer sun warmth, of meeting old friends and family. Something told him to brush his fingers on her wings. Lance listened to it and smoothed his thumbs over soft wings, hesitantly. He felt inexplicably happy and glad. The wings flapped against his cheeks, Lance brushed his fingers over it and found them come back wet with tears.    


  
"Ha, I don't know where the tears are coming from," he explained even though no one asked. Something about this soul butterfly just seemed so familiar he couldn't put his fingers on it. 

  
With one last brush against his cheek, she flew back to Allura, who mouthed something that looked suspiciously like 'Thank you' to the butterfly. Lance closed the door to Keith's room behind his back and made his way to the sofa, careful not to step on any papers. Coran extended a handkerchief towards him. He took it, wiped his eyes, and caught the pillow Pidge threw at him from her place in front of the balcony door.    


  
"Fancy a scone?" Hunk faked the most posh accent, extending the plate of golden small cake towards him. "Coran gave me the family recipe."    


  
"I never know you have Alteas' gene in you Hunk." He laughed, taking a scone, still warm to touch and bit into it.    


  
He finished it in one go. Now he was aware how hungry he was. Hunk put the entire plate on the sofa.    


"Lance, catch." Shiro tossed him a spare bottle of water on the dining table. "Any change in Keith?"    


Lance shook his head and mumbled 'no,' for good measure. Dread set back into his insides again. "Have you found anything?" 

  
The collective 'no's and pursed lips was answers enough. The atmosphere dampened once again as everyone dove back to their research. Lance stuffed his mouth with scones and put the last two in his pockets; he needed to keep his eyes on Keith.    


  
He tiptoed over the paper field when Allura suddenly said.    


  
"I got it."    


  
Tension bled into anticipation as everyone turned watchful gaze towards Allura as she took out a piece of paper and scribbled on it, hair coming undone from the frenzies. Lance peeked inside the room - no change in Keith's situation - and shut the door again, waiting for Allura's verdict. 

  
"This," Allura breathed out, scratching at her head with the butt of the pen, "complicates matters by ten fold."

  
"Allura, what is going on?" Shiro asked, standing up from his place to get the paper from Allura's offered hand.    


  
"Do you know why there is the annual phoenix passing?"   


  
"Phoenix's shit."

  
"Parade and phoenix themed food.”

  
"Avial roasted ostriches."   


  
"Unnecessary administrative work.” All eyes turned towards Matt. "What? That was more work than my own one thousand and one page thesis!"   
  
"None of the above but I appreciate the aspersion, Lance." Allura nodded to him before explaining. "When the gate to the Other World was opened all those centuries ago, souls flew the coop. The phoenixes had been attempting to locate the lost souls all these time without much success. The annual migration is for it, a surveillance hunt for the lost souls. I know where the souls are now," Allura took a deep breath, "and the reason behind Keith's ailment."   
  


* * *

"So you're telling me we need to die?" Pidge concluded Allura's explanation with a succinct conclusion.    


  
"A medical induced death, yes."   


  
"Die? Now? I'm not ready to die yet!" Hunk got more and more hysteric with every word he screamed.    


  
"A  _ medical _ induced death," Allura intoned again, putting more emphasis on the word medial. "I will be supervising the process with Slav and Coran's help. You all are safe. You have my words." 

  
lance bit his lips and looked around the room. Everyone was deep in thought as well. That was actually simple. From what Allura said, Keith had the ability to enter the world between worlds, where all the lost souls resided for the time being. What they need to do their was releasing the souls from their chain and Keith would wake up again. But the thing was, Lance was the only one who could see souls at the moment, for his heart had stopped for a few seconds before being revived again when he was just a stillborn baby, and the only one who could enter this dimension. He couldn't do this on his own, there were at least 9 billion souls waiting to be released; it could take him forever to release them all. But asking for his friends to die, even just temporarily, was too much. No, he would do this alone-   


  
"I believe in you My Lady. I will lend my help." Shay spoke up, stern and straight to the point. "Keith is my friend and he needs help." 

  
Lance wiped at his eyes, even though there were no tears. Shay had come earlier to deliver food and drinks for them all and had stayed to listen to the plan. Shay was the voice of reason they all need.    


  
"I'm in. This is an exploration; I'm not passing this chance." Matt raised a hand and took a sip from the coffee cup.   


  
"Fuck yeah I'm in." Pidge slammed her hands on the table and air high five Matt. "We are going to learn all we can about souls. Keith is our brother in all but blood. We are going to help him." 

  
Lance couldn't fight the tears this time, they gathered at the corners of his eyes but he didn't let them fall. Hunk tapped his feet nervously next to him, worry clouding over his features. Lance put a hand on his shoulders and smiled reassuringly.    


  
"Hunk, you don't need to-"   


  
"Lance, I don't want to see you sad and I don't want to see Keith lying lifeless on the sofa. I want you both to be happy together. Lady Altea, count me in because my friends need help and I'm going in." 

  
Lance let the tears fall free this time. He couldn't have asked for a better group of friends. They were all that he needed in this and every other life time. 

  
Shiro clapped his hands together, a determined gleam in his eyes. "Now that's decided, when shall we begin?"    
  


* * *

Shiro volunteered to go first. They vacated the sofa and turned it into the makeshift medical bed as well as pushed Shiro's bed out from his room as Coran and Slav tattooed the transmutation circle with a property of lightning and a hoard of other strange advanced symbols Lance had never come across in his study onto the shirt the place of the heart. The lightning one was frankly very scary looking if he was being honest with himself. 

  
"Close your eyes." Allura instructed, placing her hands an inch above the circled above Shiro's shirt. "And no one distracts me, please. This is highly advanced alchemy and I require at most silence and concentration. Shiro, nod whenever you are ready." 

  
"Shiro gave an imperceptible nod and Allura started the process. The circle lit up, with not white light but a dangerous looking reddish brown. The hair behind his head raised. This truly was a powerful transmutation. The intensity and danger of it, this was all so unreal. Lights died down again. Lance's eyes immediately zoomed to Shiro, chest no longer moving. He counted under his breath, dread and fear taking hold of his mind. At 12, Allura drew a triangle above the circle with her finger and started the process one more, this time light blue light was the one that shone. And it shone only briefly, a flash and then it vanished, not even the back lighting that usually appear when Lance stared directly at a source of light. For a heart stopping moment, Shiro didn't stir, still as death. Then he took a gasping death and sprung up, head clinking against Allura's own.    


  
"That was-" Shiro wheezed, then cleared his throat, "-dying."    


  
"No shit." Pidge scoffed, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "Move over, I'm going next."    


  
And then Pidge was there, where Shiro once laid and gave Allura the go nod. Green lightning and then blue flash and then Pidge was scampering towards Matt and hid her face on his midsection.    


  
Matt patted her hair then went next. He lived again to Pidge crashing into him and they both tumbled into the floor. 

  
"I do not like dying, at all," he said shakily, taking Shiro's offered hand. "That was something straight out of fairytale."    


  
Allura barked out a derisive, short, and pitiful laugh. "I have been wanting to leave this world and end my time ages ago. Immortality is not to be taken lightly. Shay, Hunk, you two can do it together. I have the technique under my control."    


  
Even as she said so, Lance could see how tired she was. Sweat lined her eyebrows; her eyelids drooped as she swayed in her place to fight off the dizziness. The sofa couldn't occupy both Shay and Hunk so Lance kicked the coffee table away to make space on the floor. Allura kneeled beyond their head as she stretched her hands over their heart. They shared a loving look. took the other's hands and closed their eyes. The fear suddenly striked. Lance started realizing how crazy this all was, why did his friends have to do this, he alone was enough, he could do this by himself, he appreciated the thought but this was toeing the line, he did not ask for them to risk their lives. Emotions warred within him, gratitude and anger, fear and unprompted giddiness at the thrill of having Keith back, two sides of the toast. The chilling moment between life-taking green light and life-giving blue light stabbed his heart and twisted its little knife deeper and deeper until the pain faded away entirely and he was left with no feelings. Shay took the breath first, a desperate gasp like a drowning person brought back to life. Hunk came up a second after her. They shared a look between them as tears started falling. Allura keeled over into the waiting hold of Coran. Even so, she still tried to speak.    


  
"Mrs. Mc- I mean Blue, will help you get into the in between world. I will be out here supervising you." 

  
As the others nodded, Lance frowned. He didn't miss Allura's stumble or the way her eyes shifted a little to him as she said that. Something fishy was going on between the butterfly and Allura.    


  
"Coran, how come one can do clap alchemy, is this something to do with lineage or not?" Hunk pressed his fingers together quizzically and brought his hands down onto the mat. Lance didn't even try to hide his opened mouth, because in front of his very eyes, a handkerchief rose into existence. "Because I can do this now."    


  
Coran waved his hands in the air in the sign of a massive negative.  "Of course not. That is all newspaper and their airheadedness interpretation of the situation. We never affirm nor deny the speciality of circle-less transmutation." He fixed the monocle over his eyes, ridiculous as ever. "In fact, clap alchemy has nothing to do with lineage. The moment you see or come into contact with the world beyond, you have the ability to do clap alchemy." 

  
Lance deflated. So that meant he was not as special as he first thought he was? When he thought he had something to call his, it wasn't even his?    


  
Shiro pressed his hand against the TV and make a detailed glass sculpture of a juniberry. "I don't remember anything about the other world." 

  
"No one does." Coran shrugged. "That's why not many people who claim they see the light at the end of the tunnel realize they have the ability to do clap alchemy and perceive the dynamic of energy.    


  
"You're about to see it soon." Allura spoke up, shaking her head when Coran moved to help. She looked at Blue, still perched on her legs. "Blue will show you the way now."    


  
"What wa-?" Lance didn't manage to finish his question as Blue landed on his face and covered his eyes with her wings.    


  
When the temporary darkness lifted, he took a step back. Because the sight that greeted him wasn't the one of the confined living room with four too many people. Red flowers stretched on in all directions, staining the glowing white atmosphere a bloody sea. He didn't notice the others shimmering into existence around him until Matt and Pidge squatted down to study the flower, gasping.

  
"Shiro," Matt waved at the stock still Shiro, "is this-?"   


  
"It is. Seven large petals and," Shiro counted, "fourteen small curved ones. This is the flower from the inbetween place that Keith sketched." 

  
"So we really are in the inbetween." Pidge stood up, looking around.    


  
They all took a moment to take in the barren place, the sky of white and the sea of read, no mountains, no geographical marks, all flatland; the perfect divide.    


  
"Where do you think the escaped souls are?" Lance looked left and right, checking for a sign post pointing to a cosmic-sized jacuzzi where souls were chilling and sipping honey.   


  
_ Flowers. _   


  
"Flowers?" Hunk echoed the word absently and automatically before he looked around with wide eyes. "Who said that?"    


  
"Not me." Lance shook his head. Not any others either. "No one here sounds that ghostly to me."    


  
"We should just snipe the flowers?" Shay plucked a flower from its stem.   


  
The moment the flower left its stalk, it streamed away into cherry sand and disappeared before even touching the ground. It left behind a trail of lightness, of being free.    


  
"How many flowers are we talking about?" Lance glanced around the empty space of only flowers and white.    


  
"108 billion people have ever lived," Pidge immediately answers, "18 billion flowers each."    


  
Ascertain nods were shared among them all. Lance caught Shiro's gaze and without a single word spoken, dropped down to clear the flowers around their feet. The flowers were soft to his touch, petals silken water and sometimes even sparkled, something no flowers in real life had. Each flower removed from the stem, the feeling of gladness and sandy demise flooded the area. The ground below was as white as the sky -ceiling, orb, space - above. Lance pressed both hands on the ground, smooth and unreal and nudged the power to do his bidding. He wasn’t surprised when a pair of scythes rose up from the white, as long as he was tall and completely white. The blades curved wickedly, almost a half circle. They weighed nothing as he rested one over his shoulders; felt like nothing too, only a glimmer of light the only sign that the scythes existed. Lance pointed the tip at a flower and twisted his wrist; the flower faded into sand while remained standing. 

  
"You guys figure out the bigger plan, Lance and I will take a headstart." Shiro said but Lance was already far away from them all, scythes aimed behind his back as he ran through the fields, cutting down flowers.    


  
The flowers fell behind him, hardly a sound, hardly destruction scene, just blank ground surfacing. Lance kept on running, dragging the two scythes behind him. His heart painted a frenzy tattoo in the chest, breath heating up the upper lips. He stayed on the straight line, keeping the scythes at the angle closest to himself. His arms ached and shivered, then he stumbled on shaky legs. Flowers crooked underneath him but didn't disappear. He glanced over his shoulders and clicked his tongue. The white was a mere teaspoon in the sea of red, a scratch  of airplane trail in the cloudy sky, dismissible. His fingers spasmed uncontrollably when he changed his grip on the scythes, stabbing it onto the ground so he could use it to stand. The shaking in his legs worsened and he stumbled again.    


  
"Lance, take a break, we figure it out." That was Hunk's oddly echoing voice. 

  
He was so far away from everyone that they now appeared as greyed out squares of varying heights. He lifted a scythe into the air and waved it around, indicating that he heard the advice loud and clear. Lance laid there, getting air back into his system. He wondered how Keith was doing. Had he started regaining consciousness? Was what he and the others doing right now helping? The inbetween was nothing like he had expected, he had imagine wandering souls and dark grey jagged cliffs, not this nothingness. A distant roar of engine roused him from his thoughts. Lance sat up just as an misshapen plane flew right over head, propelled by two razor blades attached to the wings. It cut cleanly through the flowers. Pidge was driving it, whooping and yelling while Matt hugged the tail-fin, hand pressing tight on either side. 

  
"Pidge!" He leaped to his feet, heart dropped somewhere mid beat. "Be careful with that!"    


 

"You can't die here, Lance," was Pidge throw-away answer as she zoomed ahead, the humming fadind altogether as flowers vanished.    


  
Another en gine thundered to life, Lance reflexively ducked, curses spewing out. 

  
"Pidge! I swear-" 

  
"Hop on Lance." Shay's soothing timbre cut him off from her perch on the biggest, most badass, sleekest land mower ever in existence. "We need another pair of hand to keep the engines running."   


  
"Holy Altea," Lance breathed and took Shay's offered hand, managing a small 'oomph' when she hoisted him up completely and deposited him on the passenger seat right next to Hunk.    
Lance patted the seat. Once again, the white material made it seem like he was sitting on air instead of tangible material. He moved around to find a comfortable spot, or the least butt numbing, and turned to Hunk.    


  
"I've got the wheel, you take care of the engine." Lance transmuted th wheel to appear in front of him as Hunk climbed over the back to assist Shay. 

  
From this high up, the flowers field stretched on further than he had initially thought. Lance bit his lips and pressed the pedal. The monster mower lurched forward at penguin sliding on ice speed, fast but lacking a lot of control, not that control would do him any good. As long as flowers left the stalks, he would even do tricks with this. 

  
"Can this go any faster?" He stomped on the gas pedal. The engine spizzled but did not hasten.    


  
"'Can this go any faster.'", Hunk parroted, disgruntled. "Piece of cake, just hit the gas pedal and it will speed up. Sure thing, things work in this place just like they do in real life." 

  
Lance had always known Hunk's sorehead tendency when life gave him lemons, the acerbic grumbling and maximum sarcasm that even Pidge couldn't match. Those were fun to listen to, especially when they were aimed at a professor or some unfair school rules. Hunk could bitch about it through classes, going well into lunch and even when they took the bus home. Never had it been aimed at him. He was more surprised than hurt, he was used to those griping words, but for Hunk to aim those at him, things must be harder and more complicated than Lance had initially thought.    


  
"Hunk, what's the stitch? Over."   


  
"Engines are not functioning as engines. Over."

  
"Need help? Over."   


  
"Boys, we don't have walkie-talkie, what are you two doing?" Shay cut in, questions for their sanity steeped her tone. "Hunk, focus, I can't keep both the blades revolving and the engines running."    


  
Hunk refocused. Lance turned back to driving, keeping the huge cutting machine straight. He wasn't sitting still though, legs tapping and fingers flexing over the wheels. Questions and curiosity burned in him, but he didn't want to disrupt whatever fragile focus Hunk and Shay had. It was a good thing too, for he almost collided with Pidge's flying razor, lying dead on the bed of flower and slowly disintegrating back into the white non-material. He stepped onto the emergency brake, finding there was none and promptly screamed.   


  
"Hunk! Shay! Stop!" His scream reverberated around the air, shocking everyone who was within hearing range.    


  
The machine screeched to a halt, nearly launching him over the dashboard and into the flower bed below.    


  
"Fucking hell." Pidge breathed out, wiping her glasses with the edge of her shirt. "Was that monster your idea, Lance?" 

  
"Language, Pidge." Shiro called from behind Matt, studying something on the white ground clear of any flowers.    


  
"Fucking purgatory." she amended without missing a beat.    


  
"What do you mean 'monster' Pidgeon?" Lance jumped down from the seat, flowers bending over where his feet were, and stalked over to her. "This is a beautiful boy I let you know that."   


  
"I thought Keith is  _ the _ beautiful boy." She smirked winningly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You two are so smitten." 

  
Lance couldn't agree more. Keith really was a beautiful boy. So he just scoffed in acceptance and leant in to whisper into her ears.    


  
"You do know if I transmuted something, it would be a jet ski rather than this land whale right?" 

  
"I heard you." Hunk walked over to them, a mock sour look on his face. "At least my elephant can run over the flowers and cut them. What would your jet ski do? Emulate a plant?"    


  
Lance didn't have the chance to respond that in fact, his jet ski might be able to propel itself into the air and dropped onto the flower with its entire surface area and subsequently made the flowers go away for Shrio called them over with urgency.    


  
"Has any of you ever seen this symbol?" He pointed at the a dark scorch mark on the unblemished white ground, the three pointed tips of a fork with the rest disappearing into the carpet of flowers. "I have never seen this in any variations of alchemy lettering. Too sharp." 

  
Lance put both hand on the ground and crawled over. The three prongs matched no letter he knew. Someone whistled.    


  
"There's more over here." Matt waved his arms over his head, "It's a part of something."    


  
Shiro stood up, planting both hands on his hips as he surveyed the red carpet in front before glancing back at the clear blank ground behind.    


  
"We keep on cutting," he instructed. "When all the flowers are removed, we'll figure this out. Everyone back to their cutter."    


  
Lance gave a two finger salute and sprinted for the already deforming monster lawn mower, dragging Shay and Hunk by their sleeves. He pressed both hands on jellied side and forced the machine back to its shape.    


  
“Is this how physical material supposed to work? Constant human touch and hugging?” He pointed the energy to hold the machine from melting further.    


  
“This is unlike any material I know of.” Hunk climbed onto the back and slapped his hands onto the back. "It melts away back to the original form the moment we stop forcing it into the desired shape."    


  
Lance hopped onto the driver's seat too when he deemed the side was stable enough. "The engines have to be looked after constantly too?"    


  
"Yes." Shay agreed, shaking her head to flick a tray strand of hair away from her face. "Keep on driving Lance, we have it covered."    


  
"Rogers."    


  
The engines whirred to a new life and inched forward, slowly but its width making up for its speed. Before long, he grew bored, there was nothing to see, just endless red and white, not even a speck of something else in sight, nothing to entertain himself with except for his thoughts, unconsciously drawing back to Keith again. How long had they been in the inbetween? Had Keith started recovering yet? And who was that butterfly? She seemed familiar somehow but Lance, for the life of him, couldn't recall if he had ever seen a butterfly so azure and strange, for if he had, he would have noticed her unsymmetrical black spot on her left wing, as if someone pressed a still burn cigarette against her wing. And Allura's stumble - since when had he started referring to the lady by her first name - it was as if she was going to say McClain-. Lance shook his head so hard when he straightened, the ground tilted in his vision. Screw it, he needed to focus on the task at hand, he could ask Keith about the butterfly later, or even Coran, if he was adventurous enough.    


  
The red flowers stopped at one point, leaving only bare white ground. He craned his neck to look behind, they were making progress. Right now, the red shrunk as white claimed back its land, the strange dark mark appearing with each flower removed. He turned the mower around and started going in circle, it seemed the flower spread out in concentric circles with the dark mark as the center. At one point, he started whistling, a nursery rhyme that suddenly glued itself onto his brain and not letting go. Shay started humming at the second verse. Hunk laughed but also hummed along, lower in pitch and with more tuning. They saw Pidge and Matt, circling the other way around and spiraling into the focal point. Then Matt yodeled, badly off-key and unsuitable for the simple song.    


  
"Are you serious?" Pidge squaked from the tailend, apparently now in control of maintaining the engine shape. "Oh my Altea, save me."    


  
"Pidge, be nice, let him sing," Shiro added wryly from his grass cutting sport car, "Maybe his voice can make the flowers leave their stalks and save us some time."    


  
Lance cleared his throat, interrupting his whistling before tuning back in at Shay's count. And then somehow, just like that, the flowers were all gone. All the souls released back to the afterworld and the phoenixes' collection. The symbol were clear for them all to study.    


  
"Should we do something about this?" Pidge toed the edge with her shoes, pushing her glasses above her head. "Is this a soul of what?"   


  
"Maybe it's a secret recipe from the people of old." Hunk said absently, a dreamy look on his face.  "Ancient Egypt Taco, Atlantis mullet linguine. What?" 

  
"Nothing." Lance reassured immediately before turning back to studying the symbol.   


  
It was small, about two Pidge-length, and three Pidge-width, not as big or expansive as he had thought but the size didn't halt the chill the symbol sending along his spine. It pointy tips and sharp edges gave a menacing, dangerous feel. He took a step back, something about this was really bad and really horrible. 

  
"Guys, we should move back, it's not-" The warning died on his throat, fear clutched at his heart and squeezed out the sense in him. 

  
"Lance, what are you talking about?" Pidge asked with doubt clear in the confronting posture she held herself in. But she did take a step back like he did, so that was a halt to his pounding heart.    


  
"I-," he swallowed, trying again, "-don't know. It's just-bad." Evil, villainous, darkness. He could say those words but none encompassing the uneasiness as well as bad. 

  
"It's time we went back." Shiro clapped his hand together as he too took a large step away from the mark. "Allura, take us back." He screamed for the sky.    


  
Lance blinked, looking up as well. Nothing happened, Allura didn't put her gigantic hand in and scoop them out nor was there a tunnel of rainbow cosmic light that would whiz them back to the real world.    


  
"Did you break him, Matt?" Hunk arched an eyebrow at a gaping Matt.    


  
"Th is is not me, I swear. I'm more of a sparkling escape than this, whatever this is"    


  
Suddenly Lance couldn't hear anything, nor could he see anyone. Time blanked out on him, no one was there, he was all alone, face to face with the floating symbol.    


_   
_ _ Come, _ it purred,  _ Release me. _

  
_ No!  _ He screamed in his head.  _ Never! _   


  
But his hands were not his any longer, nor were his legs. They moved forward, sluggishly as he fought to regain control, but still they moved, a moth on strings pulling towards the fire. His hand stretched out in front of him, inching closer the symbol. He fought against the pull, strong as a flash flood taking away houses from their foundation. His strength waned even as his fingers stretched out as far as they physically could. And then his thumb pressed against it. It dispersed into a dusty black smoke. He stumbled forward, in control of his body again. The blank world with his friends flowed back into existence again. He was kneeling, both hands flat on the ground. Zigzag lines cracked along the surface of the symbol, soundless but not less terrifying.    


  
"Lance! What's going on?" Shiro screamed from the other side of the symbol, apprehensive. "Stop the transmuting."

  
"I don't know!" Lance removed his hands, trying to cut off the energy flow but it was too late.   


  
The symbol shattered, glass-like shards scattering on the ground, swishing into the chuckling mist before vanishing completely. Around him all was silent, but the thundering of the blood in his ears more than enough making up for the lack of sound. 

  
"We need to get out." He mumbled to himself before speaking louder, more scared than he had ever been in his life. "Get us out!"   


  
The words barely left his mouth when Blue appeared again right in front of his eyes and dwarfed his vision with her silky wings. When the darkness lifted, Lance almost sobbed. The quaint living room was a sight for sore eyes, its gaudy bourbon red sofa and plain blank beige wall. Allura accompanied the sofa sitting sleeping. She looked worse and more tired than the last time she saw him. She didn't even stir as one by one, the other appeared by his side. Hunk immediately attached himself to his side and sniffled, Lance blinked tears too. Such close to souls and death left him appreciate life more. Blue glided over to Allura, lading on her ear and gently flapping her wings, jolting her awake. As if rousing from a long dream, Allura lifted her head up and blinked blearily, looking much like all the students pulling all nighter and not some posh nobility. She glance over at them, squinted and launched herself out of the chair and swooped the one closest to her, Lance and Hunk, in an embrace.    


  
"You all are back." She breathed, the weight of the world leaving her with that one single breath. She reached behind him to yank Pidge, who pulled at Matt who unbalanced Shiro, into the embrace. Shay joined in as well. "I thought I have led you to your untimely decease."

  
Shiro, who wasn't pincered with hugs and arms, patted her shoulders. "We are all right, Lady Altea."    


  
Allura merely nodded and didn't let go of them. Lance was sort of thankful for that too for he suddenly felt too weak to support his own weight. Allura seemed to notice too, for she spoke up.    


  
"You have been gone for five days, rest now. Keith will wake up soon." 

  
"Five?" Lance echoed the word, finally computing the meaning of it before he sprang up with renewed energy. "What? What do you mean five? Five days? It didn't feel like five days. This doesn't make any sense!"

  
"Time flows differently in the inbetween." was Allura's matter of fact reply as she released them. "Rest now, Keith will wake up soon. No Lance, you take it easy first. Keith need some time to wake himself up too." 

  
Lance dropped back down again, thankful that he dropped down at exactly that moment as his legs spasmed, lethargy kicking him behind the knees.    


  
"No wonder why I feel so tired," Pidge mumbled around her yawn, "This," another yawn, "-makes absolutely no sense," she made the mistake of closing her eyes.    


  
The words that came out from her mouth next didn't make much sense. She face-planted onto the carpet started snoring.   


  
"Well," Hunk poked her shoulders as Matt gingerly removed her glasses, "Good night." and he dropped his head onto Pidge's legs, deep asleep already.    


  
Lance didn't need another incentive. He flicked away some dirt from Hunk's back and leant against that warm back and closed his eyes. He needed to be in presentable shape to greet Keith when he woke up from that week long coma.    
  



	11. Chapter 11

Keith didn't register any difference when he opened his eyes and found himself on the bed. The last memory he had was falling asleep on the sofa to Lance's soothing humming. Did Lance move him here? He must be far more tired to not noticed being moved.

 

The wrongness of the whole situation only hit him when he tried to lift himself up but couldn't control the necessary muscles to get his arms underneath him. He breathed out and tried again. His toes moved. Not what he was looking for but at least he knew his body was still his to control. He was about to try to twist his ankles to see if any fingers moved when a voice from the window stopped him.

 

"Please take your time, Keith," Allura steepled her fingers together under her chin. Her signature nervous tick. "You have just woken up from a coma." 

 

Coma? 

 

Keith opened his mouth to ask, words roiling inside his throat but never made it out. Something wedged itself inside, a barricade stopping him from talking in her presence. He had talked just fine with Lance last night - was it really last night? How long had he been in a coma for? — but now, he couldn't even make a sound in with Allura — his sister,  _ family —  _ here. He clicked his tongue, giving up on speaking and turning his head to the right to look for his phone. It wasn't there. He gave up trying to talk and stared at her until he got his question across. 

 

"Here. I bring this." She extended the circlet for him, gently clicking it onto his forehead when the dexterity of his arms was nil.

 

She drew back to the spot in front of the window, playing with the intricate rings on her thumb. Another nervous tick. Keith didn't know how he knew this but he just knew. He didn't immediately think of talking, intending on watching Allura more. They look nothing alike, except for the shape of their eyes, and the sparkle of pink Keith had sometimes noticed in his while in her blue eyes the pink shone. 

 

_ “You're my half-brother,” _ Allura had explained on the way to see Alfor, father, his father. Keith stowed that thought away, one thing at the time first. 

 

Everything happened meteorically, flash of cosmic fiery death that flipped the life he knew upside down and burned the scorched the new - old - one into his  reality. He now had a sister and a last name. Allura seemed tired, ready to keel over tired but she held herself regally and aloof, her fly away hair and the bags under her eyes were the only tellings. 

 

:”Were you a part of the reason I can’t talk?”: That…was not what he planned on asking first. This was supposed to be the fourth question when he got pass the when, how, and why of the coma. 

 

Allura stiffened, pressing her palms together, a signal, she was nervous, a calming technique. 

 

“I presume so,” she finally said at length, “When the phoenixes had you pinned down, you were screaming for me. I couldn’t reach you. And through all the confusion, you tried to escape. A phoenix clawed you,” Allura pressed her hand over the back of her neck, “I could never forget that night, Keith, nor could I ever forgive myself.” 

 

Allura wiped at her eyes with the back of a finger, poisedly as ever. Silence thickened between them. 

 

:“You didn’t answer my question.”: 

 

“I’m no psychologist, Keith.” She sighed deeply, shoulders hunching closer together. “What do you think would be the sensible reaction when no one came to your aid even as you scream yourself hoarse?” 

 

_ Stop talking, no one will ever hear you anyway. _ Keith came to the conclusion with fair ease. He didn’t say that out loud, he merely nodded, or as close to a nod as he could when he was still lying straight-backed on the bed. 

 

:”Coma?”: He focused back on the burning situation at hands, he could hardly move his body and this was driving him insane.

 

Allura merely left her spot and walked towards him. She hovered a hand above his wrist, light focusing themselves into an intricate transmutation circle in the air beneath her palm. A faint ozone tang accompanied it. Keith didn’t feel the change at first but when an itch made itself known behind his ears, his arm came up easily with a move of the muscles. 

 

"Muscle lethargy." Allura drew her hand away. "I ease the worst of it but take your time."

 

Keith didn't care, he hated inactivity, especially inactivity he had no control over. He pulled himself up to a sit. Allura made an aborting movement with her arms but didn't touch him. She reached behind his back and puffed up a pillow for him instead. Keith dropped his back against it, nodding carefully at her. He turned a blind eye to the relieved smile that graced her face. Even though his muscles listened to him now, they didn't appreciate any strains taken so soon.

 

:"What happened?": he played with the blanket draping over his waist, picking out the wool pilling. He still didn't know what to make of Allura Altea. 

 

"You slipped into a coma." She repeated her previous statement, pulling the revolving chair and sitting herself down, arms resting fully on the rest. "The medically acceptable is unknown but the alchemy-related one is that the lost souls that resided in the inbetween put too much weight on you and at some point, you tumbled."

 

Keith blinked. That....was not something he expected. But he took what he could have.

 

:"What happened next?":

 

"I sent your friends to into the inbetween with a medical temporary death. They are all fine, sleeping now as we're speaking." Keith dropped back down onto the mattress at Allura's hasty reassurance. "What happened in there, I am not privy too. But all I know is that the souls are set free and returned to their world." 

 

:"The souls are the flowers right?": He had always suspected the flowers. They were not without ends, more like an inclusion, random intrusive dandelions on a grass field, except they grew as densely as busses stuffed full with passengers during rush hour, ten per every square inch. He had jogged to the end of the field before so he knew. :"So the souls are released and returned to the phoenixes. What is going to happen to the Alteas now?": The longevity should end as the debt was finally paid.

Allura didn't have answer ready for this one. Nor did she for the next 5 minutes. When Keith finally looked at her, he dropped his mouth open. She was crying and smiling, a happy smile of a burden lifted from her mind. His brain short-circuited, he didn't know how to deal with tears. Give her a tissue? There was nothing around him except for some scattered ball of sketch paper. Consolidating shoulder pat? He supposed he could try that.... He reached for the nearest part of her body that he could reach, her knees, and patted. He didn't think that help though, for she let out a wet sob and covered her face with her hands. Panicking, he patted more aggressively, spitting curses and asking for help from whoever, anyone, was better at him in this. He deemed himself failing at the art of comforting when Allura dashed for the door and closed it shut. Keith brought his hand back again, biting the lower lip. So patting was not the correct way to console a sad, crying person. Maybe he should have tried for a hug, like he did for Lance. Maybe that would have gone better than the useless knee patting. 

 

There were noises from the living room, blending together in a smoothie of voices, unable to make out a single word. Keith used the time spent waiting for Allura to twists his ankles around, getting control back to his body. They were stiffed and the joints creaked, but the longer he rolled them around, the smoother the movement out until he nodded to himself and started working on his hands, curling and uncurling each finger methodically. He was doing the same for his right hand when the door flew open, flooding the darkened room with light. Lance stood at the doorway, his back to the source of light. Keith couldn't see his expressions well but he smiled in greetings. And then Lance was in the room, throwing his arms over his shoulders and squeezed him tightly enough Keith had troubles breathing. Keith didn't mind; Lance was familiar, Lance was calm and reassuring, Lance was the missing pieces in his life. Keith smiled into his jacket, soft and still faintly of lavender softener. 

 

"Okay, this is too much, I'm not going to be excluded from this." 

 

Hunk's words were the only warning Keith got before he was squeezed from all sides from the momentum of the hugs.

 

"You scared us, Keith." Pidge sniffled, "Don't do that again."

 

"Yeah, just don't. If this happened again, I'm telling Mom and Dad." Matt agreed, voice thick but no less stern.

 

Keith winced. He wasn't sure if they could see it in the quasi-darkness but that was the most threatening thing he had ever heard from Matt. He never wanted to make Collen and Matthew worry. Shiro drilled his knuckles against his head. 

 

"Welcome back you schlemiel." 

 

Keith merely nodded, humming in agreement. He melted in the firm hold, solid and real, and let himself loose. This wouldn't last long, he knew, but he would be damned if he didn't enjoy it in the moment.

 

"Allura, don't be a stranger, join us." Lance turned his head toward the door. 

 

Keith followed his gaze. Allura stood at the doorway, back against the opened door. The light shone on her face, the redness around her nose and puffy eyes. She startled at being addressed but didn't immediately go to them. Keith stared at her until she started playing with her thumb ring and awkwardly shuffled to them, pile of half-on-half-off tangling mess. Matt pulled her into the middle of the pile, right next to Keith. She was as stiff as a twig, so Keith tapped her wrists, and made a conscious effort to loosen his muscles again, not that it was a hard thing, Lance made it easy to do so, his soothing heartbeat and rhythmic breathing. And slowly, she wound her arms around his shoulders and squeezed his forearm. 

 

Keith closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth and closeness. He never wanted this moment to end. 

———————

The next few days, Keith was confined to the apartment for recovery, which he didn't need. He was as right as rain within an hour after he had woken up. He seemed to be confined to a space a lot recently and he hated it. Allura was still explaining the situation to everyone when he tuned back into the conversation. 

 

"So you still need to summon the phoenixes?" Shiro concluded, nursing the coffee cup in his hands. 

 

"Affirmative. To keep up with the charade and to send them back to their world forever." She replied, taking a sip of the tea. "Lance, you're still coming with me as well."

 

"What?" Lance jumped, the newspaper falling from his hands, "Oh, the Phoenix Arrival, you mean? I thought it is a guise to find Keith?"

 

"It is. But I have informed the teachers that you were chosen to accompany me. I'm going to need as much help as I can find."

 

"Well yes," Lance shot a finger gun at her, adopting that humorous flirtatious persona, a fake upbeatness to mask his worry. "Anything for the charming Lady Allura of Altea." 

 

Keith sighed fondly. Allura looked around at them, confused. "I believe you're with my brother. . ." 

 

"Yes, I am with Keithy boy over there," Lance winked at him, "But cannot I appreciate more beauty in my life?"

This time Keith did laugh. This was getting ridiculously out of hand. Keith wondered how he could fall for a star so bright and full of light like this, and how lucky for him for that star to love him back.

 

"Make sure to take him back by 11 Lance," Shiro mocked threatened, grinning over the rim of his cup. "And don't break his rocky heart." 

 

"Yes, Sir." Lance saluted solemnly.

 

Keith flung his pillow at Shiro's midsection. Shiro aptly sidestepped.

 

The chiming laughter from Allura rang some kind of bell in Keith's memory, the chiming of doorbell accepting a old memory. Allura had a particular smile, she used to laugh out loud more, rolling down a grassy hill with fox kits chasing after her.  

 

"Question," Hunk raised a hand, pausing in his tinkering, "When is the Phoenix Arrival again?"

 

"Tonight. I want to get rid of the blasted phoenixes as soon as possible." Allura stood up, walking to the coffee table where a sketch of a complex ten plus layer with ancient symbol and put her hands on either side of it. "Usually, I only need help from Coran and Slav to open the gate. For this, I have adapted the procedure for you Lance. Remember, energy precision is the most important. I have placed buffering element as back up but be careful all the same." 

 

Lance nodded, stressed once again, and resumed memorizing the circle. Keith wanted to say something, but how helpful could words be with no action to accompany them?

 

:"I'm coming too.": Keith crossed his arms over his chest and squared his jaws. :"Don't stop me": 

 

"Hell no, Keith." Lance walked right over to him, hands on his hips as he vehemently refused his offer. "You're definitely not coming. Those phoenixes hate you, don't they? They will murder you on sight." 

 

Of all the people, Lance was the last person Keith expected to disagree. That just fired him up even more. He stood up too and stared into Lance's eyes, a blue thunderstorm of repressed emotions.

 

:"I don't have any fucks to give about them. You need someone who is in tune with the energy to direct you":

 

"You are not going and that's final." Lance grounded out through gritted teeth, head butting him as he poked a finger repeatedly against his chest. "I vote negative."

 

"I am  _ going _ ". Keith spoke out loud this time, pushing Lance's back with his forehead. This was getting ridiculous. 

 

"I refuse!"

 

"I refuse your refusal”

 

Lance pulled back and sprang his arms out wards. "Stop playing the hero, Mullet!"

 

"I-"

 

"Stop it you two." Shiro towered over them both, a scowl on his face.

 

Keith pulled back reluctantly. Lance blew him a raspberry before doing the same. Keith squeezed his hand. Maybe a punch wouldn't do any harm-

 

"Keith." Shiro eyed him warningly. 

 

He took a reluctant step back and turned away from Lance. They didn't have time for meaningless squabble like this. Shiro looked at them for a few more seconds before looking at Allura. 

 

"Lady Allura, what do you think?" 

 

Keith stared into Allura's searching gaze, jutting out his chin.  _ I dare you stop me, _ the challenge was clear. He was ready to throw down the gauntlet if she refused. He knew he won when Allura huffed out a dry, amused laugh.

 

"You will never beat me in any contest.”

 

"Not even arm wrestling?" Lance cut in, interest piqued. 

 

"Especially not in arm wrestling." Allura nodded in definite. "No one can. I don't spend all these immortal years lazing around." 

 

Keith squinted at her, there were merit in her words; and he also blearily remembered Allura lugging huge chunks of word from and to the castle, woods that took at least three turns to carry them all. But him losing arm wrestling? That was still to be seen. 

 

:"Let's have a match.": he folded the sleeves over his left arm. 

 

"Later, we need to get this over and done with." Allura shook her head, before smirking a little. "I will crush you by the way. Just so you know." 

 

He didn't acknowledge that. Instead he moved back to the topic at hand. :"Where is the Arrival taking place?": 

 

"The woods outside of town. I need open air space and as far away from the city as possible. Those rotisserie ducks — yes Lance, you inspired me — have quite a temper and will flare up if angered. And my foxes like to be in the open air too.”

 

Keith nodded, sitting back down in his seat again, ignoring Lance's honored gasp. :"Do you have an exact place in mind?": 

 

"I do. The woods out of town." She nodded decisively. "Lance, come with me, we're going there now to prepare." 

 

She stood up, smoothing out wrinkles on her dress.

 

She went for the door, looking meaningfully at a stock still Lance until he got the idea and scrambled to follow her out, not before running back and giving him a kiss on the nose, and then he was gone. Keith blinked, absently touching the tip of his nose, where Lance's soft lips had left their mark. He wasn't used to all this relationship thing but he was liking this so far. And Lance was hard to resist, a new leaf in spring, full of energy and life, and love. 

 

"So I guess we all are coming as well?" Hunk said at length, clicking the backboard back on the UFO vacumn thing. Red immediately scrambled inside her driver seat the moment Hunk turned it on. 

 

"Of course." Shiro said, chugging the last of his coffee and put the cup in the sink. He turned his grey eyes on Keith, stern and soldier like. "Keith, you heard Allura, do not let yourself be seen."

 

Keith unconsciously straightened in his seat and nodded. This Shiro required absolute agreement and was the non-sensible one. Shiro looked at him some more, studying his truthfulness. Keith held his gaze squarely until he finally nodded and turned back to his room. 

 

"Get some rest if you can. I'll be in my room." He closed the door to his room.

 

Keith scoffed softly, as if he could relax now. The soft humming from the UFO vacuum faded into background noise as he focused back to drawing - another sketch of Lance, this time just his side feature, and again with a soft smile. Lance was smile and happy. Keith wanted it to remain that way for as long as he could keep it. He sort of wanted to do some coloring too, in only grey pencil charcoal, Lance was so not real, just a figure on paper and a figment of his imagination. Keith knew all of this was real, and yet — 

 

He couldn't shake off the trickling 'what-ifs'.

Someone touched his shoulders. Keith whipped his head around to see Hunk, already dressed for a freezing winter night in the woods. He looked at him with imploring eyes, but comforting and reassuring all the same. Keith shook his head to get back into the reality and stood up too. He lifted the corner of his mouth into a half smile as Hunk kept on watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to spill the bean. He put on the scarf and a thicker coat then what he usually wear.

 

"Just that?" Hunk asked, incredulously. "Hold up, Keith, are you telling me you're going into the forest, at night, in the middle of winter with a baseball jacket and a scarf? Uh, I hate to be the voice of reason, but if Lance sees you so underclothes like this, he will freak, and you know how jittery a freaked out Lance behave. Not. A. Fun. Sight.”

 

Keith ignored him, putting the keys in his pocket.

 

"Lance has an attention span of a rock, which is to say he doesn’t have any. He would be so worried for you and couldn't focus on the task." Hunk continued in a sadder and more morose tone this time. 

 

Keith glared at him, who faked an innocent smile, an I-do-nothing-wrong-I-and-I-am-definitely-not-guilt-tripping-you. He smiled even more innocently at the intensity of Keith's glare. Keith put on a beanie while keeping his gaze on Hunk. 

 

:"Happy?":

 

"Lance would definitely focus on his task now." Hunk nodded, pleased and shoved past him to get to the stairs. 

 

Keith took one look around the room, bare and empty but it was a place of memory, you don't spend a long period of time with something without getting emotionally attached to it, a sense of possession, faint but there. He flipped the light switch. The flat tumbled into darkness, a flame at the end of the candle flickering out. Something told him he wasn't going to be seeing it again soon. 

 

Coran was already there with the military tank with the speed of a sport car. It was such a monstrous, sleek looking thing that he hoped he could wheedled Coran into allowing him to sit behind the wheel sometime soon. 

 

"Hurry up," Pidge poked her head out from the window, "Snails possession is happening?"

 

Keith filed into the seat behind her, Hunk following closely behind.

 

:"Where's Matt?": He turned around to look at the back seat. No one was there. 

 

"Someone has to deflect Mom and Dad. And I lie better." Pidge explained, "Coran, let's go." 

 

"All clear number 5." 

 

Keith didn't have time to actively think of asking why number 5 because Coran had already gunned the car and sped up to max speed in 3 seconds flat. Keith made up his mind, he would borrow this car and take it out for a ride one day. This was what he liked, speed and agility despite clunky design. Outside, houses, street lights blurred past, and before long, only the darkness of the hilly road blurring by. Before he even knew, the car had stopped, in front of a familiar building, the old orphanage that now belonged to a rich out of town aristocrat. Hunk opened the door and promptly fell over onto the cold grass land, or keith hoped it was grass and not widlife cack. Pidge hopped out and dropped on all four. Keith climbed out from her side and slapped her back awkwardly.

 

"Oh dear, you lot need to spend more time on a rollercoaster." Coran said, snapping his fingers.  "Back in my days, we would sit in the car without any safety belts and tumbled down with gravity. Ah, there we go." 

 

Dancing orange light casted fiery glow in the area. Coran had transmuted up a flame and precariously keeping it up from flickering away, a glove on his right hand. Keith raised an eyebrow, that was impressive, constant transmuting to separate oxygen from the air and controling it to be confined in a single area. A pure, flickering flame, luminous enough to shine their way around. 

 

"Follow me, ducklings. Watch your steps for bear traps." Coran marched ahead, stooping close to the ground searching for literal non-existent bear traps.

 

Pidge and Hunk both drew level with him. Hunk leaned into his ears to whisper conspiringly. "We don't have bears around this area do we?" 

 

Keith shook his head as Pidge whistled knowingly. "After five beers, Dad would get on well with normal Coran/"

 

"Be nice you all." Shiro scolded them lightly. "Coran is helping us. We should be thankful." 

 

"I'm very grateful for the help of a 600-year-old living fossil." Pidge commented lightly. 

 

There was distrust in her tones, and something else, a deep-seated wariness. Keith frowned. He might not know Allura and Coran well but he couldn't sense any malice or ill-will from them. Pidge was overly cautious of people sometime. Coran led them through the winding path into the deep wood. Slanted moonlight wiggled through naked tree branches, a ghostly, misty white that both put him at ease with the quietus of it and set him on edge at the same time, a peace too peaceful he realized that could not last and would be shattered like glass bead, pressing the tail end with just the pinch of the finger. Coran's fire danced in the wind, licking against a tree trunk. It breathed warmly against his face when the wind suddenly blasted backwards, the intensity of it never changed. They didn't speak a word, focused on not tripping over loose rocks and fallen tree branches. A while into walking, Keith realized the familiarity of the path. They were walking towards the open glade with the slab of rock jutting over, a perfect view and hiding place. The closer they were, the brighter it got; lights streamed forth from various small yellow lanterns hanging on tree branches around the area, illuminating the upturned earth below, a complex, atavistic transmutation circle he had only seen in old book illustrations, massive to contain as many components as possible and with small circles sticking out, a human stabilizer. Lance was standing in one circle, fingertips pressing together in ready, eyes tracking Allura's every movement as she inspected the circles in and out. He looked up to their group and zeroed in on Keith with surprising accuracy. His face broke into a relieved smile, Keith mirrored it. Lance did need him to be here, it was Lance that should stop playing the hero. 

 

"Coran, you're here. Hurry, the night will not last forever." Allura ran up to them, harried and out of breath. She wiped the back of her hand over her cheek dirt sticking on her face, further smearing dirt all over her cheeks. She looked at the rest of him, eyes resting on him, "You all should not be here. Don't let yourself be seen. The phoenixes will know you're here but will ignore you if you don't make yourself known. And Keith, I believe you can give Lance a prep talk." 

 

The question was out of nowhere. Keith blinked at her, processing her words but finding himself already pushed towards Lance, who gave him another shaky smile but didn't say a word. Lance wiped his hands on his pants. In the pale lights, sweat beaded his forehead, even cold air couldn't cool them away. He stepped out of the circle perfectly sketched onto the ground and stood awkwardly before Keith. 

 

"So," he began then cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, "you're here." Lance finished lamely, looking at everything but him. 

 

Keith frowned. This was uncharacteristic of Lance. He took a step closer, straight into Lance's personal bubble and clasped his hand tightly to keep him from stepping back. Lance looked skywards, avoiding his gaze, neck tinting in red. Keith stared harder until at one point, Lance shifted his eyes downwards for a jiff and in that moment, Keith could discern the worry, the giddiness, the fear and the doubt in him. Without even thinking about it, Keith stood on his toes and crashed his lips against Lance's, a burst of heat and firefly spark before it was all over and he pulled back, smoothly slipping into the tutor role he had been donning for a month. He resolutely ignored how fast his heart was beating or how comfortably warm his cheeks were or how soft Lance’s lips were, a taste of apple lip balm. 

 

:”Remember what I told you.”: Keith pressed only the tips of his fingers together. :”Control. A trickle first before the waterfall.”: 

 

Lance managed an abrupt nod, his face completely dyed red. Keith turned away quickly too and sequestered himself behind a bush out of sight, he could see the othrers, but they couldn’t see him, given the darkness. Others tried to crowd in his spot too but Keith pushed them all out. 

 

:”Find your own place”: 

 

His "I-am-being-flipped" radar flared into life. He didn't need to look to know Pidge was the one who double flipped him. His eyes were set on Lance's, calmer and more focused. Once again, he found Keith's eyes easily, with deft accuracy, and smiled, reassuring Keith or himself, Keith had no idea, but he smiled back too. Lance probably couldn't see it. 

 

Allura stepped out from the central circle and assumed her place in the last circle, a northward one to Lance's eastward.

 

"Everyone ready." She started bringing her hands close before stopping and turning to Lance, "Lance, are you certain you still want to do this?"

 

"I'm already here, Allura." Lance said decisively, voice strong and cutting through the wary that hang around the place. "Bring on the braised geese."

 

Keith bit his lips out of surprised laughter but Allura had no qualm about laughing out loud. She drew her head back and released a loud, freeing laughter that pealed in the empty woods, spalling the stilted silence into million of flashing calming gems. 

 

"Time to send those grilled quail back to the dining table where they belong." 

 

With that, Allura brought her hands together. Nothing happened. Keith squinted, fanning the twigs to the side to see clearer and regretted his decision immediately after. Blinding light flared up from the central circle, searing the after light into his brain. Keith hissed, dropping back and blinked furiously as his eyes watered and stung horribly. He saw nothing except gliding light for the important next few seconds. Annoying humming sound rang around, quietening even the silent moon and sending chills glissading down his arms. The world beyond must be a cold place. Orange globules shot skyward from the shimmering portal of white, greased lightning fast and torrid. They hang in the air, bobbing up and down with every flap of the expansive wings, a fishing float in the air stream. Shapes and lines finally sharpened. Keith held his breath when he laid eyes on the clear figure of one phoenix, largest among the other 3 by its side, talons sharp enough to cleave rock in half without even touching and big enough to wrap around the oldest oak's trunk. The scar on his neck flared up out of nowhere. Keith slapped a palm over it, another shoved into his mouth to stop any sound from getting out. Pain blurred the corner of his vision but he didn't lessen the force his teeth were exerting on the soft pad of his palm. Not that it mattered anyway. The side phoenix shifted its gaze to him, flickering ball of fire for eyes distorting the area with wavy heat. The intensity of its gaze froze him in place; Keith couldn't breath suddenly, all the air scorched by the fumes of the afterworld that trailed after the phoenixes like disgusting plant-harming slime trails. It gazed down at him, studying before turning back to look at Allura, who braved their heat with the formidability of a seafarer braving stormy waves. Heat blasted her hair back from her face, the intensity of light must be blinding her but she didn't squint; she looked at them head on, head held high, and stance ready for a fight. 

 

"We get you back your lost collection of souls," she said coldly, frigidly. Her voice was barely louder than her normal volume, yet it matched the intensity of the phoenix's gaze, icing the fire, a battle of will and bravery. "Relieve the Alteas of our curse."

 

**_One is not found. Give us back that one._ **

 

Keith drew his eyes wide. He stumbled back against the tree trunk. The phoenix's voice- If fire could speak, it would sound like that, crackling dangerous, a lit candle forgotten at night in a wooden house, a beast devouring all in its path. He hated them. He wanted to freeze those birds to the absolute zero and launch them into the cold expanse of space. Keith wanted so badly to jump out from the bush but a flabbergasted glare from Lance and his repeated finger-jabbing into the ground stopped him from going through with the idea.

 

"What lost soul? Reneger!" Allura spat, acting out his anger, and swiped her arm though the air in front of her. She took one step into “Tell me whose soul you still need. Can you tell who is who when you already have billions of billions of souls in your prized collection!" This time, Allura did scream.

 

**_One. It's here. It's close._ **

 

Again, the grating humanoid sound grated on his nerves, it wasn't supposed to be heard on this living plane of existence. 

 

"Bilge." Allura pointed two fingers at the largest phoenix, the one that had done all the speaking so far. "None of us has performed life alchemy before. Death was never supposed to be meddle with." 

 

**_Foolish human sitting in a well._ **

 

It flapped its wings hard; dust and heat wafted boomed around it. Keith shielded his face. When he looked back up, all four phoenixes were looking at him, deadly. When it spoke again, the other three phoenixes joined in, a symphony of forks scraping on porcelain dishes, shrill enough to put crevices in his teeth.

 

**_You tricked us out of one soul. You were punished. You have brought it back to us. Give it back to us and we will nullify our deal._ **

 

Keith shakily stood up, bracing his hand against a tree trunk as he took on the torrefying collective attention.

 

:"I do not know what you speak of": The circlet translated his thoughts into speech, deadly monotone and unfeeling, much like how he wanted. 

 

**_A confusion in time. A life that should have been amongst our collection. It's here. Desist from hiding it. Fulfill your end!_ **

 

The phoenixes loomed over him, burning bright and searing. With each word spoken, they beat their wings down harder, their anger rose higher, until their tone reached an impossible frequency and they screeched, organs rupturing shrillness. 

 

:"I don't know!": Keith clammed his hands over his ears and glared at the phoenix through squinting eyes. :"What the fuck are you talking bout?":

 

The large phoenix leant into him and thrilled angrily. Keith lost consciousness and touch with the world for a few seconds. When the world came rolling back, the phoenixes had been driven back to the center of the circle, flying higher than they were. They grouped together tightly, spitting fire from the small holes on their beaks. They were apprehensive of something. Keith pressed his palm flat against the tree trunk, running his fingers along its rough bark, reveling in the grounding sensation anchoring him to the present. Something soft brushed against his legs. Keith chanced a glance down, four foxes were circling around him, growling at the phoenixes hovering. So this was Allura's buffer against the phoenixes' anger. He bent down, almost pitching forward, and whipped out the knife he swiped from a gangster some years ago, pointing it at the phoenixes. An useless move but a placebo of control and safety. Someone was there next to him too. He knew the shape and the feel of that hand in his. Lance was here, right by his side, not letting him go. Keith breathed easier, his mind calmer as sense flowed back in. He squeezed Lance's hand once then let go, taking one step to place himself in front of him and pointed the knife straight at the phoenixes.

 

"Explain." 

 

A phoenix zipped for him, fingers of fire wiggling tempestuously on the crown of its head. A fox dashed in front of him, fur puffed up and growled dangerously.

 

"Explain." Keith said again as the phoenix reluctantly withdrew. "Now.

 

They hissed in unison. The foxes bared their teeth, low rumbling reverberating in him, easing his fear. Keith held the knife tighter, gazing into the radioactive glowing pool of eyes. 

 

**_Mother and son. We should have two more in our collection. Yet one we have. One is wrongly alive. One must be returned to us. You_** **_helped it escape, you must bring it back to us._**

 

The Phoenix flew above his head, away from the jump of the foxes, and spread its wings out, a suffocating fire dome. Keith didn’t let go of his knife, aiming straight for the hovering birds even as his mind whirred with confusion. He never saved anyone, never have the knowledge nor the power to. A life? He couldn’t cheat death, no one coul-

 

Time. 

 

The knife nearly fell off his grip. Keith reaffirmed his grip, feeling the dampness between his palms and the leather handle. Time could be cheated. He knew that. He had done that, had cheated time before to have more play time, to lengthen the time the sun could stay on the sky. Little things, but he did that. Long before he met Shiro in the orphanage, a distant past that seemed so unreal yet very much real. 

 

Time was a material to control, if he pulled at just the right string, the right frequency, time was the same as every other chemical. But for the life of him he couldn’t recall ever transmuting time to save anyone. 

 

:”I don’t know what you’re talking about”: 

 

**_LIES!_ ** The phoenix roared, fire blasting towards from the tips of its wings, scorching the desiccated branches, burning wood clogged up his senses. 

 

Keith took a step back, pushing Lance even further behind. Heat licked at his skin, ashy flakes flew into his eyes. He nudged Lance to hide behind the tree but he just wouldn’t move, still as a rock statue. Keith whipped his head around, both arms going for he shoulders to shove him sideways behind a tree, and stopped. Lance wasn’t looking at him, or at the blazing phoenix, or the chaos brewing around. His gaze was somewhere behind, to his left, a shadowed place in the woods. Keith waved his hand in front of his face to get his attention, and when that didn’t work, forcibly pushed Lance into hiding. Lance planted a foot into the mushy earth and grew root on the spot. 

 

“What’re you doing!?” Keith wiped a hand through his brows, sliding into Lance’s gaze. “It’s not safe-Lance?” The reprimand died in his throat, replaced with the expanding sponge of dread. 

 

Lance was as pale as a ghost, the flickering orange light from the enraged phoenixes only accentuated the unnaturalness of his parlor. Light danced in his too-wide eyes, of shock or fear Keith had no idea; but he knew that the reason for Lance’s strange reaction was something he kept seeing hidden in the dark woods beyond. Keith turned around, back facing Lance again as he twirled his knife and aimed it whatever beyond the bushy dark. The ghost that came floating out was not what Keith expected.  She was well in her late thirties with auburn mane of wavy hair, crowned in a halo of familiar shade of blue, the one that Blue had. She had Lance’s ghost of a smile, the always present upturn to the corner of her lips. She didn’t look at them, heading straight for the phoenixes.

 

_ “I’m here, leave my poor boys alone. You’re terrorizing them, you nasty cockatoos.” _

 

Her voice was like a roll of autumn fog, dousing the intensity of the phoenixes. She held her place, as the anger in the phoenix shifted into excited yearning. 

 

**_Our collection._ ** They thrilled. 

 

_ “Yes, I am. Now lift the curse off the pure girl’s family, dios mios, you are a flock of meanie birds.” _

 

Keith wanted to cry and sleep to the next alternate universe. This wasn’t happening, this clearly wasn’t happening. A motherly ghost berating the almighty powerful guardians of the afterworld in the form of burning bear-sized birds. This was unreal. Keith was prepared to jump in front of her when right in front of his eyes, the stubborn phoenixes nodded, eagerly. Keith dropped his mouth open as the large phoenix turned to Allura, who wore the mask of apprehension and doubt in her eyes, and blowed a white flame at her. She jumped a little but didn’t let out as much as a peep. 

 

**_Done._ ** The phoenix turned back to the ghost, very much eager like an old man finally made known to the wonder of leisure chess.  **_Will you come and be the last piece to our puzzle?_ **

 

_ “Yes, I will. Go first and I will follow shortly” _

 

The phoenixes sang, happily. They rejoiced in a fiery dance high up in the air, above the tree line, before diving into the pool of glowing white light, and disappeared, bringing with them the choking heat and fear. The ghost was still there, peering at the calm pool. She wiped her hands on the apron around her waist and turned to them both, smiling softly. Keith was violently reminded of Lance in that moment. But Lance was still standing behind him, a solid mass and not at all flickering away with every stroke of wind. She came to a stand in front of him, a smile so fond and soft, with a touch of relief in it. She rounded her fingers around his wrist, a weird cold smoke, tch-ing disappointedly. 

 

_ “You should eat better, Keith. Look at how thin this wrist is,” _ she shook her head,  _ “Unacceptable, have more spinach. Eat five meals a day. Drink orange juice.” _

 

Keith blinked, opening his mouth then closing it. He did a double blinks. She was looking at him, sternly waiting for an answer, an acknowledgement. 

 

:”I have lettuce.”: 

 

Clearly that wasn’t the answer she was waiting for, for she frowned disapprovingly, a frown so familiar it tugged at the memory of Keith’s mind, that same down turn of the upper lips and slightly squinting one eye. 

 

_ “That is certainly not enough. I’ll have a chat with your brother and sister later.” _ She rapped a knuckle against his forehead, a focused tube of air hitting the skin, then she looked over his shoulders. Her eyes softened, proud and glassy with unshed tears.  _ “You’ve grown up so well, my sweet.” _

 

"Mami," Lance choked, stepping out from behind him, lips trembling.    

 

Realization blew a mint-tinged storm at Keith. Now he understood the similarities, the warmth and the smile. Lance lunged for his mom, aiming for a hug but his arms wrapped around thin air; her form shimmered. She breathed deeply, regretfully as Lance hastily backpedaled, scrubbing the back of his hands over his eyes to let her take back her form.

 

_ “I'm sorry I leave you alone. I regret never being there, cheering for your first step, your first word, your first day of school. But I love you so much I couldn't bear the thought of not having you living your life,"  _ she stepped close, touching Lance's cheeks with her hands,  _ "I love you so so much my sweet." _

 

"Dad said," Lance struggled to speak around his tears, shoulders quaking with held in sobs, "you kissed me right here." He tapped a finger to his forehead. 

 

_ “Right there." _ Lance's mom placed her fingers over the spot, and ran her hands through his hair.  _ "You grow up so well, Lance. I’m so proud of you.” _

 

A sobbed escaped Lance. It was the crack that broke the dam. Lance weeped, an anguish, happy, despair-filled sound that broke Keith's heart, ricocheting in the empty silent woods. He wound his arms around her back, a hug without feeling the warm back, nor the corporeal body, the semblance of a hug. 

 

_ “I’m so proud of you.” _ She repeated, smoothing her misty hand on his back.  _ “You work towards your dream, you teach your Papa how to make mean pastelistos, you learn to braid hair for Vero. I couldn’t have been any prouder.” _

 

“Y-you know.” Lance croaked out, inhaling back snort. 

 

_ “Of course I do. I’m the little butterfly that follows you every step of your life and will forever be with you.” _ Then she turned to Keith, extending an arm out towards him, an invitation for a hug.  _ “Come here, too Keith.” _

 

Keith put his hands up in front of his chest, a refusal but the look in her eyes stopped him from going through with the action. She was determined, and stubborn to have him in the hug. So Keith hesitantly stepped into her hold, feeling Lance’s quivering form on his right, and her chill mist arm on his back. 

 

Keith stayed like it, his body stiff as a wire. He couldn’t seem to relax, there was so much he didn’t know here.

 

_ “I want to say thank you.” _ Lance’s mom whispered into his ears, a breath of ice, low and quiet.  _ “Thank you for saving my child. The punishment you have to endure all these years is not what I ever wish upon you. But I’m so thankful for you for giving Lance a chance at life, please take care of him for me. I will repay you someday, when our path crosses again.” _

 

Keith, frankly, didn’t now what to say, he couldn’t say he regretted his choice, when he couldn’t even remember doing it. He wouldn't need repayment either, but he knew if he denied, she would not be happy. The one thing that he agreed with her was the fact that he had Lance here, his sky and stars and he wouldn't risk it any other way.

 

"I will protect him." Keith whispered into her eyes, soft and quiet, a breath in the low humming of the portal. 

 

_ “I'm happy that he has you.”  _ She whispered back, equally quiet. 

 

Keith shook his head. "I'm glad I have Lance."

 

She didn't say anything, but she pressed her hand tighter around his neck, a cold affectionate assurance, an appreciation. Her cold eased the tightness around the scars on his neck, a soreness he didn't realize was there until her cold hand cooled down the irritation. She kept her hand there for another moment before withdrawing it and took a step back, both hands once more, on the side of Lance's hang face. In the shimmering light, tears fell from his eyes in shiny crystal drops. Thunder cracked from the portal, turning a toxic orange. 

 

_ “I need to go — ” _ She started to say but Lance cut her off.

 

"What? No. You c-can't leave." Lance cut her off, anguish in every syllable. They cut at Keith, echoing the pain. 

 

_ “My time here is up.” _

 

"Mami, no, not yet, please." He cried, grasping tighter at her wrist, only to grab air. 

 

Orange lightning streaked from the portal, zapping into the sky above. A warning. Keith held his blade at ready. 

 

_ “I love you so much, Lance, I'm sorry I couldn't spend my life with you. I'm so so proud of you, my love. I will love you forever and always. Promise me you'll live your life to the fullest, live and love — ” _

 

“Mami, no," Lance mourned, he was close to crumbling, shattering into pieces. 

 

_ “ — Promise me, Larenco. I couldn't be assured any other way in the after world. Larenco, look at me. That's right love, you're my strong baby. You have grown up to be a great gentleman, you're my most prized treasure. I know you can do this.” _

 

For one moment Keith thought Lance wouldn't do it, wouldn't say it, wouldn't let his mother go. He bowed his head close to his chest, angling his face away from her, fist closed so tightly Keith could see the blue veins popping on the back of his hand. It was painful to let someone you loved go even though you had never met them before this moment hurt. Keith knew, of course he knew. He might not remember his father, but how could Alfor go when they just met again, with only apologies and a sad smile. But for the life of him, he couldn't blame Alfor, he couldn't take away his father's freedom, a release from the horror filled life, a life so long and so suffering it has lost all meaning. Keith wanted to say something to Lance, but he didn't know what. Nothing seemed adequate. Only actions spoke now. So he crossed the space between them and detangled the stiff fist, one finger after another, and threaded his fingers through the stiff digits. His hand was so cold, bloodless. Keith held on tight. Lightning zapped up again, this time hitting the ground, solidifying clumps of earth instead of harmlessly shoot for the moon. Lance inhaled a strangled breath, his arms and body trembling with the force of it. He drew his face up, red and streaked with snort and tears, and looked at his mom, still smiling softly, waiting, patient and understanding.

 

"I pro-promise," 

 

The words were tiny, lost in the frenzy of lightnings, but it was heard, loud and clear. She smiled, a relieved smile, full of love and belief. The outline of her form started fading away. 

 

_ “I'm glad mi ador.”  _ She hugged him tight again.  _ “I love you so much. Live, Larenco. Know that I will love you till the end of time. And tell Papi to not come see me when it's not his time, I will send a slipper his way if I see him in the after world. And tell Veronica her soul mate has my approval.” _

 

"I will, Mami." Lance laughed, a watery, surprised one but genuine. "Goodbye Mami, I love you too." He pulled away from her, gazing at her intently, as if committing her featured into his memory. 

 

The lower half of her body was already disperse into the night air. She placed her dissolving hand on his cheek, mouth moving in a silent sentence. She spared a smile. A wind blew by, shattering her wispy feature. And she was gone.

 

Lights from the portal died down, until only darkness remained and silence regained its reigned. Moonlight shed pleasant glass of lights down to the forest floor. Lance stared at the spot his mom had occupied a mere second ago and, as if the rod that held him uptight fragmented, he crumbled to the ground. Keith was already there, to hold him close. Lance weeped against his shoulders, keening yearning of a life he could have had had. 

 


	12. EPILOGUE (Keith)

"Do you truly know how to put this on?" 

 

"Trust me, I'm the tailor, the master of fashion. I know all fashion garments and the proper way to  wear and rock them."

 

"Why is the pin so close to the neck. Lance, should the pin be there -- Ow! Lance, that hurts! Let me do it."

 

"Deny. And stay still Mullet! I mean it, stop squirming, you're only making this harder for us both."

 

Keith huffed a breath and crossed his arms over his chest, only to have them slapped away by Lance as he leant in to pin the voluminous cape around the simple pink tunic. His eyes were open with, peeking his tongue out as he battled with the thick fabric to pierce the emblem through and secure them around his shoulders. Keith pecked a kiss on his eyebrow, and laughed softly when Lance flushed red and grumbled incoherently. A knock on the door alert him to Allura standing in the doorway, pink cape perfectly thrown over her shoulder. A white and red mask — a stylized fox —  sat sideway on top of her hair. 

 

"I see the battle has not been won yet."

 

Keith sighed, looking skyward as Lance mumbled, pulling the cape around his neck so tight he nearly choked. "Just..... a.... liiiillltle..... bit ......more. Got it."

 

The click when the pin slid into lock place was like the happy roar of fire crackling in the stove, peaceful and such a blessed sound. Lance fixed the cape, pulling it to the left before giving a thumbs-up. 

 

"All set, Captain Doofus." He took a step back to admire, eyes running up and down, and touched his chin in pleased manner.

 

Keith nodded and turned to look into the body length mirror. The light color scheme clothing threw of his perception for a moment. He wasn't used to light color clothes light this, especially something so light and soft like the pale pink cloak thrown over his shoulders and the gleaming silver pin holding the voluminous thing in place. His closet was doused in black, red and an occasional white or dark blue jeans. Keith glanced upward to his hair, the hair on the back was sticking out like a duck's butt. He consciously smoothed them down. This happened sometimes, he didn't expect it the happen on this day when he was required to dress formally.  Lance came up to him, brandishing a comb like a fighting knife and started tugging at the tangled, disobedient strands. Keith closed his eyes, and let himself drift into the slow movement of the comb in his hair. He loved it when Lance played with his hair. 

 

"Allura, why pink? For a funeral, shouldn't we wear black?" 

 

Keith was jostled out of his daydream at Lance's smooth timbre; he kept his eyes closed but peeled open his ears to hear Allura's explanation. He was curious about this too. 

 

"Pink is the color of warrior, a lighter shade of red that is not too vibrant nor violent." Allura breathed, a melancholic sigh touched with a note of explanation, like telling a story of the time long past. "We do wear black to attend funerals of my treasured friends and closed advisor. But for Father, I want to honor the warrior that he was and would be remembered till the end of time." 

 

"I see." Lance hummed in acknowledgement, his hand never stopped the melodic soothing combing. "You are a warrior too you know, Allura, taking up your Father's mantel and leading the Alteas into prosperity like that." 

 

"I-," Allura stammered, evidently shocked and surprised, "-uhm, I thank you for your kind words?"

 

Keith felt his mouth quirked up in a smile. Lance was the best. 

 

"I just speak the truth. And all set Mullet." 

 

Keith opened his eyes, waiting for a tick to adjust to the light, and looked at the mirror again. The hair around his neck was smoothed out and was now how back in a low tail. Not bad if he had anything to say. He turned around to face Lance, who was beaming brightly, and nodded his thanks. Lance cocked his head to the side and winked, shooting him a finger guns for good measures. 

 

"We're dating, Lance." Keith couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Lance was so extra. He supposed it was a good thing, to cover up for his depleted emotions reservoir. "Stop flirting with me."

 

"Who says I am?" Lance leant into his face, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ears. "I'm merely reheating the love."

 

Then Lance pressed a quick kiss on his nose, soft and light. Keith huffed out an annoyed laughter as Lance drew back and blew a raspberry. He was really going through with the "whoever kissed the other on the lips first must organize the best date in the history of best dates." Not that Keith minded planning. He just really truly deeply didn't want to lose to Lance. Lance brought out the worst of his competitive side. 

 

Allura cleared her throat, amused. Keith yanked his hands quickly back to his side, heat rising on his cheeks. He forgot Allura was there. She stepped further into the room, pulling out from her enormous sleeve a delicately painted fox mask. "This is for you. To scare the phoenixes." She tagged on when he frowned at her. "It's tradition. And to hide you from the press. I don't want them to know about you just yet."

 

"Or ever." He mumbled, taking the mask from Allura's offered hand. The small bells on the side chimed merrily. Keith ran his fingers along the eyeholes, admiring the lovely red painted lines along the cheeks and forehead. Unlike Allura's half face one, a pure white masquerade mask, his was a full-faced wooden mask, with angry red lines to ward off the phoenixes. He strung them over his head and slid them over his face. It fitted comfortably over his face, not once as breathing restrictive as he had thought. The enclosed peripheral vision annoyed him a tad but that meant he could focus his sight more on the snorting idiot in front of him, then he could deal with this restriction. 

 

:What?: He finger-spelled, not trusting his voice to be heard over this mask and not confident enough with talking after so many years of silence to repeat himself. 

 

"Nothing," Lance said, a blunt lie that made Keith flip the bird, "You just look like a cool cat ninja." 

 

Keith snorted. Red ran around within the fold of his cloak, having snuck into the room earlier and taken a liking to the inner of the cloak. He didn't even manage to do anything when Allura swooped in and snuggled her face against Red's tiny form, something very unbefitting of a noble. Keith quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything and brushed at Lance's white-blazered shoulders. He didn't comment on Lance's sudden far away look, or the sad downturn of his eyes, or the way he rubbed at his cheek under his eyes, the place where his mom put his hand last. He instead tapped Allura's shoulders lightly and cocked his head for the door. She nodded, pressing a smooch on Red's large floppy eyes and stood up, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on her clothes and redonned the calm, collected demeanor of a lady of Alteas. 

 

“Let’s go.” She pushed her mask over her face and walked out, not before bending down to get the last stroke on Red’s poofy fur. 

 

* * *

The university ground teemed with people standing in white, murmuring in soft voices. A podium was raised. Sun peeked through murky clouds, reflecting on so much white gathering all at one place. It wasn’t too windy today, as if the sky was awaiting for the arrival of an immense soul, with stairs made of sunlight. Allura led the two of them to the back of the podium and stepped onto it. Keith looked to the crowd and felt his heart skip a beat. This many people, he c-

 

“You’ll do fine,” Lance squeezed his hand, “Go.” Then he let go and nudged him on. 

 

Keith stepped with shaky legs onto the wooden steps, and felt more than hear the surprise stemming from the crowd before him. He kept his gaze forward, looking at a spot behind the crowd, until he found Lance’s a ghost of white in the sea of white but shone out like a beacon in a storm. Lance nodded, his mouth quirked up in a gentle smile that calmed his heart and brought his hastened exhale back down to its sedate level. 

 

Allura started speaking. The crowd grew silent at the cue, even without an microphone, her voice carried.

 

“Alfor Altea was a great man, an honorable father. He had led a good life. He made mistakes but nothing could not be fixed. As a destroyed orange peep can grow into a tree, he built the Altea from the ground up. He will not be forgotten, for he is now one with the Alchemy. For Alfor, to the perennial cycle of Alchemy.” 

 

Allura raised her hand. Keith raised his hand to the sky too, and without saying a word to each other, an turmeric alchemy circle sparkled into existence and from there, stream of fire burst fort from his hand. Energy thrilled with him, a long time penal finally answering a snail mail, with as much excitement as the beginning. A fiery farewell for a passionate father. 

 

A breeze blew by, a caring hand smoothing over his hair. 

 

_ Rest well, father. _

 

* * *

 

Keith didn’t know what to expect when the funeral ended and Lance scrambled up to him, without so much as a by your leave, and started dragging him at light’s speed towards the taxi waiting line. 

 

“Allura, Coran, hurry!” Lance yelled out, his voice cutting through the murmuring din like hot knife through butter. “We’re going to be late!” 

 

“Lance,” Keith stumbled, his leg muscle roughly wake up, “Where-?”

 

“My sister’s wedding! We’re going to so damn late! I need to get you into a blue tux and do your hair and all the crazy bridesmen stuff.” 

 

“What!” 

 

Lance ignored his question completely when he spotted the rest waiting by the car. 

 

“Hurry you hibernated vitamin D deficient snails!” Pidge yelled, flinging herself back into the car. 

 

“Nice insult Pidge.” Matt high-fives her, getting into his seat with more grace and care. 

 

Keith was basically shoved into the car and Lance hopped in, yelling for Shiro to drive. Now, Shiro was a good and law-abiding driver, he drove under the limit and actually slowed down when it was yellow light. But the Shirt that was driving now could make an illegal car racer and gave all the street racer a run for their money. Not that Shiro could ever beat him in a drifting contest but if somehow Shiro wanted to have a car-racing contest, Keith was ready. 

 

They got to the airport out of town in record time. Allura and Coran, and not so surprisingly Shay was already there, standing serenely in front of a personal aircraft. 

 

“How,” Hunk wheezed, face pale, “did you two get here before us?” 

 

“Police escort number 1.” 

 

“Oh right, completely forgot about it.” The deadpan realization on Hunk’s face spoke with Keith. 

 

“Hop on now, young paladins. We have exactly 18 minutes 21 seconds to get to the wedding on time.” 

 

“ _WHAT!_ ” Lance dashed past Coran and shot inside the aircraft. “VERO IS GOING TO KILL ME!”

 

A beat of silence as Keith looked around every baffled stare before chaos broke out as they all dashed for the stairs. No one wanted a dead Lance. 

 

And in the end of it all, Keith couldn’t help the laughter that broke out when Pidge climbed over his shoulders to jump inside, when Hunk and Shiro got stuck at the door trying to walk through at the same time, when Matt stepped onto his robes and face-planted onto the stairs, when Lance peeked his head out at the commotion and laughed breathlessly. 

 

Keith laughed too, light and freeing. Maybe it really was time to admit defeat and kissed that boy on the lips.  _ That will make a fitting curtain close.  _

 

_ ~~END~~ _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'll figure out the final chapter counts and a posting schedule soon-ish. In the meantime, hmu on Tumblr @my-ruu or on Twitter @MyoHaneul (heck, or even discord mi#5695.


End file.
